Worth the Risk
by kidneythieves
Summary: Neal nearly looses Peter on a case & decides to risk it all for the man he's fallen in love with, regardless of the danger. Peter questions himself as he realizes he might feel something more for his conman. Neal/Peter slash, sexually graphic
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Wrong End of a Loaded Gun**

Everything felt surreal to him. Peter began to question every action that led up to this moment. Question every choice and bad decision that ended him on the wrong end of a loaded gun. He should've trusted his instincts. He should have called for backup when he had the chance.

The New York City night air felt cold and dead against his skin. A stillness in the night made the world seem frozen in unearthly calm. Lights from the buildings surrounding them burned brightly, yet didn't shine down on them. Dampness clung to the concrete and metal, wetting the pavements and streetlamps. The alleyway where Peter was, smelled of rotting trash soaked through with two day old rain water. In a city that never slept, tonight was uneasily calm, as if it knew violence lingered close by.

Footsteps echoed in the darken alley. The man holding the gun pistol whipped him across his face. The force of the impact knocked him off balance and he stumbled backwards against the side of the building. The man hit him again, this time with a fist the size of a sledgehammer. Peter slumped limply into the trash littered alleyway. He took a hard breath, his lungs trying to retain oxygen for his depleted body. Simply breathing hurt.

Warm blood began to trickle down the side of his cheek from the gun lashing. It burned achingly. Peter gazed up at the barrel of the gun from the cold, wet ground. He had been in this kind of situation before. He knew what it felt like. Except it never felt more real to him than now.

The bad guy having the upper hand, a gun pointed at him, usually with the potential shooter looking for a quick escape. Not too many cold-blooded killers were suspects in the white collar division of the FBI. So Peter was lucky most of the time, without bullets, without bloodshed.

Except this time, it was no conman or thief holding a gun on him. It was a ruthless killer. The tattoos on his knuckles and trailing up his neck symbolized that. The loaded revolver glared at him in the sheen of the nightlight. The killer's cold eye glittered with malice.

"You don't want to do this…" Peter rasped out. His jaw aching from the blow to the face as he hissed out through gritted teeth, "I'm an FBI agent. If you kill me…" he hesitated, stressing every syllable, "there will be consequences."

The killer cocked an unimpressed eyebrow, "I hope so, Agent Burke."

The gun shot blast scared him more than the bullet that was fired. Peter felt his body jerk back uncontrollably, his head slamming into the brick building behind him. His body went limp and useless from the sudden shock. Peter had never been shot before. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe to have his life flash before his eyes before greeting death? Images of the people he loved and cared for more than anything else in the world. He saw his wife's face for a heartbeat, seeing a glimpse of her soft smile and remembering her warm, gentle embraces.

Then Peter saw another face… one that he responded to instantly. His heart sparked to life in his chest, willing him to live just a few moments longer. He breathed out through broken, bloody lips, fighting for air. Fighting to stay strong, fighting to stay alive. Blood began pooling from the wound, seeping through his shirt.

Images of those brilliant blue eyes and handsome face were instilled in his mind. Neal…

A sudden feeling of regret and fear washed over him those final moments. He wanted to tell Neal so much. He wanted to see him, hear his voice, talk to him one last time but he feared he would never get that chance. Peter didn't want to leave this world without being with Neal… His heart ached with a longing he'd never experienced before. It pained him more than the bullet in his chest.

He clutched a desperate hand over his heart, bunching his bloodied shirt in his hand, trying to resist the urge to faint from the pain overwhelming him. The taste of blood was metallic and bitter in his mouth. Damnit, he should have listened to his gut. He should have known not to trust so easily. Neal warned him not to do pursue this case… Neal tried to stop him…

Peter's last moment of life were thinking of Neal. His partner, his friend… and yet he had become so much more than any of that. Peter didn't understand fully from the weakness and pain overcoming his senses and judgment.

He gazed up one last time, locking eyes with the killer, wanting to remember the face of the man who killed him. The dark eyes gleamed down on him and the gun blast echoed through the alleyway, sending Peter off into the black oblivion of nothing.

* * *

><p>He dreamed of Neal. It was so vivid and real, that Peter could smell him. Neal's crystal blue eyes were intent with a determination and strength looking down on him. Peter only stared back, unable to respond, unable to move. He felt powerless. He struggled, wanting to reach out and grasp the face of the man whom he considered more than a friend. But he couldn't. It hurt too much… Darkness blanketed him and Peter slipped back into nothing.<p>

* * *

><p>Neal waited. He watched as doctors, nurses, FBI agents and countless other people swarm and gather around Peter's hospital room. First, just the doctors and Elizabeth were allowed to see him. He was in critical condition in the ICU and any further people in the room could complicate an already delicate matter. So Neal waited in the lobby. Mozi sat besides him, unusually quiet for the normally talkative conman. Except now, neither of them had anything to say.<p>

People in FBI jackets flooded the waiting room, including Jones and Diana, both of whom looked anxious and miserable. Neal felt stone-like. A statue made of marble as he sat, quietly and patiently with the others, waiting to hear news about Peter's fragile condition.

He wouldn't let himself feel anything. Neal couldn't. It hurt too much to feel at the moment. All he could do from breaking down was imaging himself elsewhere- somewhere far away… anywhere but here. Anywhere except where the unbearable pain was. And the fear… God, he was terrified. He was scared of losing the one man he'd come to rely on and more importantly trust. But he couldn't think that, he wouldn't, not now, not yet.

A few hours ago Peter had been taken into surgery where doctors planned to remove two slugs from his chest. Now everyone waited in breathless anticipation. Dreading the outcome yet hoping for a miracle.

Neal, the statue, waited.

Suddenly a nurse from the surgery came through the double doors. FBI agents flanked her, Neal and Mozie jumped to their feet.

"He's out of surgery- still in critical condition…" the nurse took a deep breath, calming herself as she addressed the worried on-lookers. "But the doctors' are hopeful. Very hopeful," she smiled weakly. "He's a fighter."

The whole room seemed to fill with a sigh of relief. Mozie too relaxed slightly. Neal on the other hand…

He excused himself from Mozie and the others. Mozie tried to stop him but he brushed his friend's hand away and left the lobby.

Neal found a private bathroom to an empty hospital room. The moment he turned the lock to the bathroom every single emotion he had felt in the past hour overwhelmed him.

Knees buckling, Neal sank to the bathroom tile like dead weight. Back slumped against the door, legs outstretched, hands fisted against his mouth, preventing the cry from escaping him. Instead a low, whimpering moan came out as tears streaked down his face.

He almost lost Peter. Another cry racked his body. Peter's broken ad bloodied body haunted him. Seeing the thick red blood staining through his clothes as Peter's body was rolled past him to surgery. Neal could only watch in horror and disbelief. He never thought in a million years that he would see Peter strapped to a hospital bed, covered in blood, inches from death. Deep down, Neal had always thought he would be the first one there, covered in the blood, about to die- not Peter. Never Peter.

But it was Peter. The man who had completely changed his life for the better. The man whose commanding presence and easy smile could calm or take charge of a crowded room. Neal had always been able to pull off a charm or two. Peter on the other hand, though he tried to fly under the radar, had an unusual ability to draw a person in, pull them in just by his natural charisma. Maybe that was what Neal found exciting about working with Peter.

Everything that happened tonight- Peter's near death, to the emotions crushing Neal now, crystallized something important for him. He was irrevocably and had unintentionally fallen in love with Peter in the course of their partnership.

He always knew he had feelings for Peter. After the death of Kate and the realization that Peter had become an important person to him, made Neal question everything. Right down to his sexuality. He'd always been irresistible to women and on occasions, men. Yet Neal was never drawn to anyone like he was to Peter. The way he moved, spoke, acted… everything fascinated and allured him. He had surprised himself when he realized his sudden new physical attraction to the FBI agent as well.

He became aroused just by the slightest touch or smile sent his way. At first it drove Neal mad, and he did everything in his power to resist- but now, he'd grown used to the heat he felt towards him. The chemistry always sparkled between them. Peter just chose to never acknowledge it. And Neal wanted him with a blistering intensity he had never felt with anyone in his entire life.

The heel of Neal's palms pressed into his closed eye-lids. He had never felt this out of control. But he needed to be honest with himself.

He needed to step away from this. He needed to get away from the raw emotions that kept bubbling to the surface.

Neal bit back another groan. He knew he had to make a choice right now in order to save whatever partnership and trust he had earned with Peter. He couldn't and wouldn't jeopardize that, it had become too important to lose. Neal just hadn't realized how deep his emotions ran until this moment. The idea of loosing Peter… Neal's body trembled, clenching his teeth, holding back another burst of emotion.

He sighed heavily. Peter would be angry- possibly downright murderous. But Neal made his choice, sitting on the cold tiles of the hospital bathroom.

He would separate himself from Peter entirely- including their friendship. He would be there when he could for Peter in recovery but until he was fully recovered- Neal would have to slowly detach himself. He needed to do this for his sanity. And for his heart because the truth was Peter would never see beyond their friendship. Neal couldn't delude himself any longer on that hard fact. Loving someone who could never feel the same made another tear slide down his face.

_**TBC**_


	2. Ch 2: The Shady Lady

**Chapter 2: The Shady Lady**

**Two weeks later…**

Peter fumed indignantly. He had been stuck in this damn hospital bed for way too long and now the doctors were delaying his release because of paperwork! Peter rolled his eyes upwards, resisting the urge to grab the newly clean bedpan and chuck it across the room. El had gone to speed up the process, hoping that just by her presence would make the nurses move faster.

Jones and Diana sat across from him in the plastic hospital chairs, looking tense and uneasy by his sudden disposition. "I hate hospitals," Peter explained tersely.

"Me too, boss," Jones responded with a nod.

"Good thing you're almost outta here," Diana said trying to defuse his anger.

"Almost- not quite," he grumbled, slamming the back of his head into the pillow. His arm seemed to constantly ache, his back hurt from lying around all day and he was starting to suspect his muscles were beginning to atrophied from the lack of movement.

It had been two weeks since the shooting. Luckily for Peter, his body was recovery nicely from the surgery. He'd been in physical therapy the last few days to help strengthen his arm. One of the bullets had pierced close to his shoulder muscle, causing ligament damage but no nerve. The other bullet went right through the chest, missing his internal organs, specifically his heart by a mere few millimeters.

Peter just wanted out of this damn hospital and get back to work. He didn't especially like his demanding physical therapist, suspecting she was trying to kill him. By the end of each session, his shoulder and arm throbbed like a son of a bitch and the therapist seemed pleased by it. Peter only glared at her with resentful gratitude and was wheeled back to his hospital room.

His only real visitors had been the usual crowd, his lovely wife Elizabeth, his two agents Jones and Diana from the bureau, and even Mozzie on one awkward occasion. Except… no Neal.

Peter took another deep breath. His mind had been wandering back to Neal all too often the past two weeks. Ever since he was shot. When Peter asked Mozzie why Neal wasn't visiting, he only shrugged and made up some Mozzie-like excuse. Truth was- Peter missed him. He wanted to see Neal and talk with him, especially after he nearly died in some God awful alleyway.

He played that scene over and over in his mind like a broken record as he rotted away in the hospital bed. He thought of every scenario and escapes, yet each time, it ended the same. Shot, lying on the cement, bleeding out.

It had also been the moment when Peter realized his feelings for Neal ran deeper than friendship. And these feelings only became more complex and frustrating by the day, especially when the person who brought them forth was never around.

Now, after two weeks of no word from the man whom he considered his best friend, he felt on the verge of murder.

"How's the case coming?" He asked, diverting his thoughts from Neal- if for only a moment.

"We've been following up on the bullets recovered from the crime scene," Diana replied. She hesitated, her beautiful face etched in a tight frown, "No luck on ballistics. The bullets are nearly impossible to trace and the weapon used might have been smuggled in illegally from Russia."

"Leads?" he prodded.

The two agents locked eyes, before Diana spoke, "Nothing yet boss. We're working around the clock to catch this guy."

He knew that. Violence against an FBI agent brought the wrath of Hell down on whoever the perpetrator was. Except the case grew colder by the day and the longer Peter stayed locked up in the hospital room unable to help, meant more wasted time.

"Where's Neal?" Peter asked suddenly, unable to resist the urge to find out about his conman. Jones and Diana had become Neal's new keeper while Peter was MIA from the bureau.

Diana shifted, clearing her through. "He's at the office. He's been there every day."

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. What was she hiding? Years on the job made him a walking lie-detector and Diana never had a good poker face when it came to lying to her boss.

"Yeah," Jones smiled lightly. "He's been bringing coffee. A really good blend- something French roast…?"

Diana shot him a dark, warning gaze. Peter frowned deeply, vividly remembering how much he loved June's fantastic coffee, "You mean Italian?"

Jones nodded excitedly, "Yeah, that's the one. Wow- great stuff. It makes you look forward to going to work in the morning."

Peter ground his teeth to ash. Of course Neal would bring the best coffee to the office when Peter wasn't around. Neal not only never visited him in the hospital but apparently had been skipping out on good coffee when he had been around to enjoy it. Typical, he thought.

Peter was practically belligerent by the time the doctor and El walked in. She beamed at him from behind the doctor's back and did a ta-da happy dance. The doctor signed his release papers, told him to take it easy and to not push himself too hard. Peter said he wouldn't, though the first thing he planned on doing was tossing Neal into lock-up until he confessed why he hadn't visited him. And if at any point he had to get rough with the sneaky conman, then so be it.

Finally, he thought in relief. No more hospital beds, gowns, weird smells, reheated food or fluttering nurses. He was going home. He paused at the thought, wondering why he wasn't more excited by that prospect. And why did he feel more excited at the idea of seeing Neal then lying in his own bed at home, besides his lovely wife? Peter smiled thinly at El as they began packing his things and getting ready to go home at last. He had to give this some serious thought. Maybe once he saw Neal again, these weird feelings would vanish and they would go back to buddy-buddy mode.

He vaguely hoped that Neal wasn't getting in too much trouble on his own. Peter checked his cell-phone. At least he could still track him on his phone if Neal wandered too far off leash.

* * *

><p>The smoke from the room wafted over him. He narrowed his eyes in the dimly lit bar, feeling as if he was wading through fog trying to find the shore. Neal needed to get through this as quickly as possible. He was only a few miles out of his green zone and the FBI, well probably just Jones or Diana, would be at the front door of the Shady Lady bar soon enough.<p>

He needed information and couldn't get it without bending a few rules. Neal just hoped he could see the man he needed to tonight, or else he was back to square one on leads. And he wouldn't be able to find the man who almost killed Peter. A sudden, horrific image of Peter, covered in blood, a man standing over him with a gun… Neal bit down, smothering the sudden jolt of pain stabbing at his gut. Neal tried not to think about as he focused on the task at hand. Information.

He tipped his black hat down and maneuvered through the smoke. When he finally reached the bar, he coughed, clearing his throat of the cigarette smoke.

The bartender was an older man, with slicked back silver hair and wore a black vest, like those old-fashioned bartenders from gangster movies. Neal smiled lightly at him, ordering a drink first. The older man returned with a glass full of high-end vodka and glowered at him for payment. Neal slipped a crisp fifty on the wet bar, "I'm looking for someone."

The bartender glanced at the money, took it and nodded gravely.

"Is Kirill around by chance?" Neal asked subtly.

The bartender's emotionless eyes traveled to the corner of the bar where it seemed the darkest. Neal thanked him and moved through the plume of smoke toward the back end of the bar.

Kirill was a long time acquaintance and knew him as his alias Nick Holden. They had never really reached that friend capacity or even business partners. Kirill helped him with low end fences that he couldn't get off his hands fast enough or the occasional money laundering.

Kirill was a former Russian gangster, turned business man. He owned bars, mostly to cover the money laundering he did on the side, but for tax reasons, Kirill was legit. That's why Neal selected his services in the first place. He also had a knack for staying in-touch with the Russian mafia world. Neal didn't know if it was because Kirill was nosey or couldn't escape it. Either way, information about a hit out on an FBI agent was big news, especially when contracted through the Russian mafia.

Neal approached Kirill at the corner booth that overlooked the entire bar and yet remained somewhat secluded from the rest. He was hunched over papers, a bottle of expensive vodka sitting besides him as he read.

Kirill glanced up, hearing Neal's footsteps. His light hazel eyes fell on his and he smiled with recognition. The former Russian gangster looked years younger with a simple smile. His usually hard face became open and easy. Neal felt the tug of a smile on his own lips, "Hello Kirill."

"Nick, my dear boy. How long has it been?" He asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

Neal took the seat gratefully, "About almost three years now."

"My God- that's a long time, here have a drink, boy." He poured another shot of vodka of him. He took it with thanks and pounded it back, eyes briefly glancing at the clock. Time was running out.

Kirill sighed looking at him, "Where have you been, Nicky? I thought the feds finally caught up with you." He frowned in displeasure, "I was disappointed when I didn't hear from you- but you know how things are in our business. You meet somebody you like and the next day they're dead in a ditch or locked behind bars somewhere." He spoke fluent English, though his accent was heavily lined with Russian overtones.

Neal nodded in understanding. "To be honest- the feds did catch me."

Kirill shushed him, "Please- Nick you seem so suave." He said in disbelief. "It must have been one persistent bastard who caught you by the horns, eh?"

Peter, Neal saw his face clear as a bell in his mind. "Yeah- a bastard he is."

Kirill chuckled, "Well- in any case I'm happy to see you about." He glanced at him from the rim of his glass, "Now- knowing you, as I like to think I do, you need something."

Neal hesitated, knowing he had to tread carefully. "I need some information."

"What kind?" Kirill asked, leaning forward as he added in a hushed voice, "I have all kinds."

"A hit."

"Ah- that kind," he hesitated and quickly downed his shot of vodka.

"A hit was taken out on an FBI agent."

Kirill took in a sudden breath and glanced away. "Why are you interested in this, Nick?"

Neal gritted his teeth. He wanted Kirill to trust him, but not enough to let him in on his new life. "This fed that got hit- was the one who caught me. But the contract failed- the fed is still alive and kicking."

"So what do you want with it?"

"I wanna know who pulled the trigger."

Kirill's eyebrow rose slowly, "This is dangerous information, Nick…." He paused before asking, "You want him to finish the job, then?"

Neal's heart stilled at the thought. Peter dead. His throat tightened. "Something like that," he said coolly.

Kiril nodded in understanding but hesitated. He seemed caught up in his own thoughts. Neal waited patiently. Hoping Kirill had his answer for him, because Neal was running out of time and options. The FBI would be busting down the Shady Lady's door in a few moments and he really needed this. It was his only shot.

"I know who did this." Kirill finally spoke and leaned heavily against the back of his seat, as a new form of weariness crept over his older features. "In my day- you kill a man for money or a woman, or both. But this man- he's dangerous, ruthless. I don't like him. He works for the Zakone. He contracts through them."

Neal vaguely recalled reading an article about the Vory V Zakone Russian gang that was beginning to take hold of crime in New York City and also Kirill dealt with them on occasions. It grew only because the amount of Russian immigrants coming in recently. "Who is he? Where can I find him?"

"His name is Victor Niltz. He's known to hang out at the club on 56th from time to time. If you need his services- I would check there first."

* * *

><p>The two bullet wounds had a reddish tint to them. They were still healing and gradually becoming scar tissue. Such small wounds, yet they caused so much damage. Peter gingerly touched the one over his heart and suddenly realized he had been holding his breath. He breathed out through his nose, calming himself. Standing in front of the mirror, looking up close at the bullet wounds without stitches or bandages made him realize how close he actually came to dying that night. He shuddered and dropped his shirt, covering the wounds.<p>

He grudgingly walked downstairs to the kitchen. Case files where spread out on the dining room table. He wanted to be up to date on the case when he returned tomorrow.

Peter returned to catching up on his case when his phone vibrated. He flicked it opened and cursed. "Damnit, Neal…" he hissed out, slipping his phone in his pocket and grabbing his coat. Neal had just wandered too far off the leash and it was time for Peter to reel him in. Thankfully the alert was only sent to him. He took Jones off the detail this afternoon when he got home.

Now he was responsible for Neal again. It felt bittersweet for Peter. He was happy to be in control of the reigns once more but since he hadn't spoken to Neal since being shot, he wondered how this would all go down. Peter hadn't seen him in almost three weeks. And now he was going after him to either arrest him or smack him around a bit. He glanced at the clock before leaving. Nearly 1 o'clock. Good thing he had been up already, he thought dully and headed for the car.

_**TBC**_

* * *

><p><strong>**Thanks for reading my story so far! Sorry for the drag... i know i'm notorious for the hot stuff right away. But like they say, 'good things come to those who wait'! I just really wanted to get into the head-space of both our fav boys before anything too exciting happened. So stick around- things will be heating up soon enough! <strong>

**~luv kidneythieves ;)**


	3. Ch 3: One Way or Another

**Chapter 3: One Way or Another**

Neal quickly left the Shady Lady, glancing at his watch. He'd been out of the green zone for nearly twenty minutes. Shit, he thought as he desperately looked around for a taxi. He needed to run back to his apartment, literally, in order to avoid an FBI bust.

Neal didn't want Kirill's place or face being exposed to the feds. Kirill was his dirty little secret, among the many. Still, he liked the guy and bringing down the feds on anyone was just rude and would kill whatever friendship/partnership he had managed to sustain.

Suddenly a dark, Ford rolled up in front of him and his heart sank. Peter, he thought horrified, yet the sudden flare of excitement was electrifying. It vibrated through his entire body. He only felt this excited after getting away with a precious jewel or painting under his arm. Now- that same rush came over him the moment Peter emerged from the driver's side.

His usually stoic face was drawn back in anger and his eyes were a thunderous cloud.

It didn't matter that Neal had promised himself to stay away from Peter, to fight the attraction he had for him, and suppress the love that came to the surface whenever he thought of him. At that moment, none of it mattered to him. He finally saw Peter again. He was alive and well. God, was he so hot, he thought gazing up and down the length of him, yearningly. He wore casual dark jeans, a dark t-shirt and an old black coat. He was more dressed down then his usually suit and tie in which Neal had become accustomed to. So it always pleased him to see Peter like this, casual, like himself.

Yet the minute their eyes collided, Neal felt his insides quake. Peter got smoothly out of the car and headed directly towards him, as if he hadn't been shot less than a month ago. His commanding presence evident in his firm, tall stance.

When he reached Neal, those stormy eyes burned right through him, as he hissed out through gritted teeth, "What are you doing here?"

Neal forgot how much he missed that voice. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he deflected easily.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to the bar, "Why are you here, Neal?"

"Why are you? Shouldn't you be at home- resting?"

"Hey- I'm more rested than the Dalai Lama, okay?" He countered.

"You obviously need to keep working on the mediation part… at home, Peter. This isn't your concern…" Neal began becoming suddenly frustrated with him. Why was he here? He needed to be recovering, not chasing after him. Besides Peter couldn't help him with this because where Neal planned on going, a federal agent couldn't follow.

"It is my concern when you're out of my reach," he motioned to the anklet. "You know better than that."

"You know what, Peter- you're right," he said calmly, trying to defuse the tension between them. "I was just on my way home now."

Peter's eyes flared, "You're still my responsibility." He emphasized by poking his chest.

Neal glared daggers at him, realizing that Peter had a bone to pick with him and it probably had nothing to do with being miles out of his radius. "I can take care of myself. I don't need a keeper, or you."

Peter was momentarily taken aback by the harshness of his tone. He breathed angrily through the nose, "Tell me why you're here and if you promise to go home and stay there, I won't report this."

"Always playing to role of a suit, aren't you?" Neal gazed turned incredulous, "That's all you do. Past judgment- never trusting what you can't see. You need evidence telling you to believe in somebody."

"Stop deflecting, damnit!"

A sudden tisking sound came from the doorway of the bar. They both turned to see Kirill leaning heavily against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. "If I didn't know any better, Nick… I'd say you're having a lover's quarrel."

Neal froze like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes growing wide, mouth open ready to protest.

Kirill continued, "If I would've known you liked boys- I could've given you my cousin's number. He's a great guy, a fence downtown with a real taste in art, ironically."

Neal smiled thinly, "It's not like that Kirill…"

Kirill's gazed at him in a mild surprise. "No? Then I must say, you two need to work out the sexual energy there, or you'll end up murdering each other. Ivan had to leave the country because of it."

"Who's Ivan?"

"My cousin, the fence- great guy."

"I believe it," Peter said sarcastically, joining the conversation.

"So if you're not with Nick…? Then who are you and what are you doing yelling in front of my bar?" He asked casually, puffing a breath of smoke up into the night air.

It was Peter's turn to freeze. His gaze snapped back to Neal, who looked at him indifferently, crossing his arms over his chest as if he too wanted to hear what Peter had to say. "_Nick's_ my friend- I was worried about him." He emphasized Neal's alias, mockingly.

Kirill's eyes bore into him and Peter simply returned the stoic gaze. "Nick's a risky guy- and yeah, he's usually up to no good."

Neal frowned "Hey Kirill… you know I'm a good guy though."

"Good guy, yes. Great guy…?" he pretended to weigh the idea, "No. Not a great guy. It's only reason I do business with you anyways, you know this."

Peter watched the interaction between them. Neal knew what Peter was thinking just by the look of curiosity on his face. He wondered how many deals and money exchanged between them when he was in the business of con. He wondered what Kirill still did and was doing again with Neal now.

"So- Nick, you call me if you need me," he flicked his smoke towards Peter and glared dangerously at him. "And you- don't come near my bar again." The threat was subtle but there. Peter understood it and didn't challenge Kirill again.

Neal took in a breath of relief when the bar door closed behind the Russian.

"We need to talk, Neal. Now," Peter said with urgency as he clenched his keys in the palm of his hand and strode off to his car.

Neal followed, knowing this night just got longer. And by the way Peter was looking at him, it wasn't going to be pretty either.

**_TBC_**


	4. Ch 4: Lie to Me Again

**Chapter 4: Lie to Me Again**

Peter followed Neal inside his apartment and shut the door behind him. He didn't want to disturb June with the verbal lashing he planned on giving his conman. He kept his eyes glued to Neal. He watched the contours of his back as he slid off his black jacket and hat, tossing them on the table before turning around to glare at him.

Those brilliant blue eyes seemed bluer and more vivid than Peter remembered. God, he was beautiful, he thought feeling somewhat dazed. Everything about Neal was handsome. His thick, wavy black hair, his sinfully handsome face and smile- all features of Neal that made him the perfect conman. He was built too, slender with hard muscles and a trim form. He also had incredible taste in vintage clothes, mixed in with a bit of modern. Peter had to admit he thought Neal was quite attractive in those classic hats he seemed to cherish.

Now staring at him, his heart flipped over. He couldn't stop the rush of anxiousness coursing through him. He should be thinking of all the questions he could in order to pump information out of him. But he couldn't. The only question he had burning on his mind was…

"Why didn't you visit me in the hospital, Neal?"  
>Neal stared at him, stunned, clearly thrown off by this new direction in the interrogation. He looked away, before saying, "I don't like hospitals."<p>

Peter frowned and moved closer to Neal. When he stood in the kitchen, he suddenly realized that Neal had the entire case Peter had been working on up till his shooting spread out on the table. He gazed over the pictures and notes of his and the files typed and signed off by the FBI. And all of it just sitting on Neal Cafferey's dining table. Alarm shot through him, as he stared down at the case files that were never suppose to leave the federal building.

"How did you get these?" He asked accusingly, picking up the summary report of one of the interviews.

Neal hesitated, quickly shuffling the files back into the box.

"Neal…" Peter turned on him accusingly.

Neal puffed out a sigh, "All right- I stole them, okay?"

"No- not okay!" Peter grabbed the box and began picking up all the loose papers and files. "Damnit- Neal, you could be sent back for taking these…"

"I don't care. No one's missing them anyway. They're too busy on your case to think about any others at the moment," Neal retorted bitterly.

"And so they should be. Besides, this case had nothing to do with me, other than I happened to be working on it the time of my shooting." He said dismissively, closing the lid on the box.

"Then why do you think you were shot, Peter?" Neal asked, moving to hold the box down with his hand, not letting it go. "Who would have the motive to kill you?"

"Lots. I'm a fed, Neal." Peter said acidly. It was true, they both knew this. So how come Neal was so upset about it? His blue eyes had gone icy cold on him. He knew Neal did not like his candid response.

Peter's scrutinizing gaze moved over the kitchen and noticed that there were several empty bottles of wine, trash and Neal's own notes scattered all over the place. His apartment was a wreck, dishes piling up, clothes strewn across the couch. He'd never seen Neal's place like this before. He was usually so tidy and organized.

Peter frowned at the conman. "Where did you get all this anyway? Diana and Jones didn't just leave it lying around for you." He asked suspiciously.

Neal pursed his lips, as if trying to suppress whatever0 he was about to say. "You'd be surprised what good coffee could get you especially from those who've been deprived of it."

"You used June's coffee to distract my people?" he asked incredulously. He should've known something was up when Jones mentioned the coffee. Of course Neal had an endgame when he played the good coffee card.

"Hey- it's not my fault you guys have terrible coffee. Maybe if you bought the good stuff this wouldn't have happened." Neal said redirecting the conversation and making Peter out to be the bad guy.

He rolled his eyes, "Please. When you want something bad enough, Neal- you don't need an excuse to get it."

Neal's whole body suddenly tensed and he glanced away. Peter hesitated, wondering what he said to trigger Neal's unease.

His eyes instinctively traveled over to the ominous box, brimming with case files. "Have you found anything new, then?" Peter asked, vaguely wondering if Neal might have found something that he might have overlooked.

"No."

Peter shot him a hard look, "Then why were you at the Shady Lady tonight?" He paused before adding, "And don't tell me for a drink. That's not your kind of place and we both know it."

"Fine," he said, relenting to Peter's constant questioning. "I wanted some information."

"On this case?" He asked with mild surprise. The case Peter had been working on was nothing but a private family owned art gallery theft, it had nothing to do with contract killers or him, other than he was assigned to the case.

"On yours, Peter," Neal said softly. "I went to see if I could get information on who was hired to kill you."

Peter felt his stomach drop, "And did you?"

Neal finally turned to look at him, his brilliant blue eyes intense, "No. I didn't find anything useful."

Peter heard the hurt in the conman's voice. He didn't understand him and his conflicting emotions. Neal seemed upset that he couldn't find anything helpful in his case, yet didn't bother visiting him in the hospital? If Neal cared, he would've been there. He would have done more than just steal case files. Peter felt torn. He was angry that Neal lied to his team.

"It's been hard being you," Neal commented, gesturing to the files.

Peter shook his head, unable to believe that Neal didn't come to see him when he most needed a friend, especially when he was standing in front of him, hurt and helpless over the case. "Why didn't you visit me, Neal?" he asked again, this time more gently.

Neal brought his gaze up to him, alarm in those beautiful eyes. "I told you- I don't like hospitals."

"I don't believe you," Peter stepped closer to him, wanting to see those eyes lie to him.

Panic crossed his face as he stepped back. "It's the truth."

"No, it's not," he said boldly. "Don't lie to me again. Just tell me, Neal. I need to know," he asked, desperate now. His heart hammered in his chest as he moved closer, his breathing rushed and body ridged. He wanted the truth and would do anything to hear it.

Neal shook his head and held out his hand, stopping him from getting closer. Peter pushed his hand away with his good arm. Neal fumed and tried shoving him. Peter deflected it, this time moving in even closer until they were inches apart. He heard Neal catch his breath. His pulse raced as he looked down, over his tense, handsome features.

Peter was not just going to roll over and die. "Neal…" he captured his smoothly shaved face in his hands, caressing the lines of his face. His fingers stroking his cheek bones, his thumb creeping towards his lips… His heart fluttered achingly. He wanted to know what Neal tasted like.

Neal touched him. Just his arm, as though about to push him away or pull him in. Peter gulped.

Neal pushed and then flung himself away as if he'd been stung with a burning hot poker. Peter reeled back, shocked and dismayed. But that quickly turned to anger, realizing that he'd been so close to doing something he probably would regret. "Fine- keep lying to me Neal. It doesn't matter anymore." Peter spat out, "I thought you were my friend."

He turned to leave when Neal stopped him. "Wait…" He saw the look of desperation in his eyes, but also pain. "I couldn't see you like that, Peter… It was hard enough knowing you were shot- then to find out you nearly died…" Neal looked away, grief etched deeply in his face.

"Neal…" Peter reached out to him again, this time as a friend.

"No- don't," Neal brushed his hand away.

"C'mon, Neal- look, I'm sorry. I didn't know." Peter said feeling helplessly lost. He had no idea that he had actually meant that much to him. And it pained him to see him like this.

"Stop!" Neal shot out, pushing Peter back roughly. Neal might have been slightly shorter than him but he had packed a powerful punch. Peter almost threw in the towel then, but when he caught a flash of tears stinging Neal's eyes, he hesitated.

Without thought or reason, he reached for him one last time, battling his attempts to stop him. He trailed his fingers through that midnight black hair, and gripped the back of his head, forcing him to meet his gaze.

He felt Neal tremble under his touch. Then surprising him, Neal whispered, "I almost lost you…"

Peter felt his heart rip in his chest as he bent his head and took hold of his lips. Softly, he kissed him. It was tentative and unsure, as though waiting for Neal to push him away again, reject him, anything, but return the kiss. When Neal did nothing but stand immobile in his arms, he continued stroking and lovingly kissing him. He tongued the outside of his mouth, wanting him to open up, to accept him.

His breath caught when Neal open his mouth with a groan that vibrated down Peter's spine. Neal met his tongue halfway as all softness vanished, turning into hard desperation. He pulled him into his arms, both burying deeper into each other. The way Neal continued to frantically kiss, made him wonder how long he had waited for this… wanted this. Peter was suddenly spurred on by the idea of Neal wanting him just as badly. The sweetness of his mouth, softness of his hair, the smoothness of his face, the steel of his arms wrapped tightly around Peter, the solidness of his body, the contours of his thighs pressed against his…

Peter moaned, feeling the tension building at the base of his cock. Oh God, it felt so right and so good tasting him, touching him. Neal gripped the back of his neck, smothering him in hot, wet kisses. He arched his back, his thighs and bulging manhood pressing against his own. Peter gasped as the delicious ache that flared wildly at the feel of their cocks brushing. He couldn't stop the forward jerking of his hips to feel more. He needed so much more.

Suddenly he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Peter breathed out a curse against Neal's hungry lips. He pulled back, unable to look into the eyes he knew would reflect his own lustful needs. He swallowed, pulling out the phone and seeing "Home" calling him.

"It's El," he rasped out, still panting from their marathon kiss.

Neal licked his lower lip, eyes heavy lidded with desire as he stared at Peter. "You should answer it," he breathed out, also still trying to catch his breath.

Peter would've given anything not to answer the phone and just devour what burned between them. But he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to. Or needed to.

He touched the screen and answered the call.

_**TBC**_


	5. Ch 5: Jump

**Chapter 5: Jump**

Neal stepped through the doors of the white collar division of the FBI building and into the office space of where he'd assisted/consulted on countless cases for the past few years. When he first joined the white collar division, he felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing with them, thinking of ways to escape, break the ankle tracker on him, and find Kate. Now all of that was in the past. He liked being here. He enjoyed solving cases and helping people get justice. It brought him a sense of contentment that he had never felt before at his other job. Stealing, conning, lying…

The place had become a home. Familiar faces, trusting people and an environment not ripe with danger unless it involved a case, which were rare, it was a family. And just like any family it had its' ups and downs.

His mind instantly turned to Peter. But before he could dwell more on his FBI agent, a pretty blond brushed his arm as she passed by, holding a load of files under her arm. She had a stunning smile and beautiful for an agent.

Neal smiled stiffly back, seeing her obvious attraction to him through those curious eyes of hers. But instead of following her, leading her on with a dazzling smile or attempt a come-on, Neal walked past her and up towards the conference/war room.

He couldn't even think about another woman- let alone anyone else, especially after last night.

His lips still burned. His heart hammered just at the memory. Neal glanced through the window walls of the offices and saw Peter. He wore a nice suit, with a bold blue tie, making him seem confident and sure on his first day back on the job. Neal felt a surge of emotion at the mere sight of his FBI agent. Too think, he could've lost this- lost him. Neal suppressed those wrenching, painful thoughts. He refused to think about that now. Neal was handling it. He planned on finding Peter's shooter at the club tonight. And taking his revenge.

Now, Neal locked his eye on the man before him. He wanted Peter so badly he thought he might shatter. Peter sent him a dark look, standing at his desk, holding a file in his hand. Neal waited, just staring at him, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. How was Peter going to react after last night? Was he going to pretend it never happened? Or worse, reject him?

Suddenly Peter gave him the finger point and motioned for him to get into his office- now. Neal's gut clenched and he calmly strolled over to the office door, leaning against the doorway.

Peter's head was titled, holding the receiver of his desk phone against his shoulder and ear, while flipping through a file. Peter's dark brown eyes were intense as he narrowed them and motioned Neal to come inside his office. Neal took a breath and entered, closing the door behind him.

"Huh- well, I'll check the records. But I don't remember getting her contact information…" he paused then through gritted teeth added, "I thought someone else got that…" his nostrils flared angrily and he cursed under his breath. After another pause he replied over the phone, "I'll get right on it and make sure everything it updated, now that I'm back."

He slid the phone off his shoulder and back into the cradle with a loud thud. He sighed heavily, "I swear, people don't care that I'm actually trying to solve their case. They need a constant update. Like I'm their personal whipping boy or facebook."

"I'm sure they appreciate what you do, Peter. They just don't know how to thank people for their services anymore. I swear the barista I tipped the other day nearly died of shock when I put money in the jar."

Peter grunted, "Well, I don't get paid extra for people to bitch at me."

Neal shrugged, "That's what you get for workin' for the government," he said with a smile.

"You sound like Mozzie."

"I need to find more friends," Neal stated drolly.

Peter cocked a suspicious eyebrow, "Really? What about that blond downstairs?"

Neal felt his heart slam against his ribcage. How did Peter know about the blond? Had he been watching him the whole time? Why hadn't Neal seen him?

"Were you spying on me?" Neal asked curiously, moving in closer and placing himself in direct view of Peter.

Peter suddenly seemed to realize that he had said too much and quickly glanced away. "No- just noticed that she happened to check you out. Which isn't surprising. With your good looks and charm, all you have to do is smile and women swoon."

Neal watched as he nervously shuffled his papers on his desk. Peter was shy about their encounter last night. He wondered what Peter was thinking. Was he trying to rationalize it? Deny it? Neal moved closer, the only thing between them was the desk. He stared at him, pulse dancing. "She was cute…" Neal trailed off, pretending he was interested in the woman, though at the moment, he couldn't even remember what she looked like, especially when his eyes were on the one he actually wanted.

Peter gaze returned to his, open and vulnerable. Neal's throat clenched but he continued, "she had a cute smile."

Peter's gaze turned angry, "Well I'm sure she would jump at the opportunity to get into your boat."

Neal smirked, "Probably." When the jealous rage flashed brightly in Peter's eyes, Neal felt giddy. Peter wanted him, he could see it plain as day now and it had everything to do with the kiss from last night. "Too bad I don't want her in my boat…"

Peter hesitated then, eyes scanning his face, trying to see if he was telling the truth.

"I'd rather catch someone like you," Neal said sincerely, dropping all sarcasm and amusement from his tone. He wanted Peter to understand that he was putting all his cards out on the table. "Or you could just jump in whenever you like," he said with a seductive smile.

Peter's gaze turned hot instantly and traveled over Neal's lips and down his body, slowly. He felt the shudder of excitement race through his entire body.

"Maybe I'm not ready to jump," Peter said softly, as though not wanting to admit out loud that he wanted him too.

Neal leaned in, needing to touch him, taste him, anything to get through the next few hours without wanting to devour every irresistible inch of him. His fingers brushed over the tops his fingers that held the file on the desk. The heat spiked the air around them. He stroked back and forth as he whispered, "I'll just have to catch you then."

Peter groaned weakly, "Neal…" he sounded desperate. Neal couldn't stop himself as his hand traveled up to grasp his wrist and squeeze.

Suddenly a loud knock came at the door and Jones entered, rushed and urgent. "Sir," he said, making Neal casually slip his hand away from Peter and glance over at the young agent. Peter on the other hand didn't look so easy, rather put-off and irritated at Jones. "Mrs. Reynolds is requesting to speak with you at the gallery, says she has knew information on her case."

Peter frowned at him, "She can give her statement to you."

Jones shook his head helplessly, "She only wants to talk with you."

Neal lit with a smile, "Coffee on the way?" Anxious to get started on a case. Anything to take his mind off the building sexual tension between them.

Peter shot him a dangerous look and closed the file on his desk, grabbing the car keys and his jacket, "You're buying."

**_TBC_**

* * *

><p><strong>**Sorry about the long wait... I just kinda hit a wall &amp; had a lot of work come up on me. But tonight, I had to just stop, push my work aside and forget about my worries. So I wrote a little White Collar! Cheered me up considerably. Short but sweet. Plz comment &amp; review. <strong>

**~kidneythieves**

**btw- i luv the fact that all my supernatural fanz are reading my white collar stuff! u guys are epically awesome & motivating. i seriously luv u guyz!**


	6. Ch 6: The Case

**Chapter 6: The Case**

Her face seemed to be pinched in a permanent sneer. Peter cleared his throat trying to catch her attention. But Mrs. Reynolds seemed to purposely ignore his presence in her posh art gallery as she doted on a couple gazing over the collection. The art gallery was relatively small, yet well funded from the modern appeal and the latest high tech equipment which guarded the collection. Digital cameras overlooking the entire gallery, along with sensors and heat monitors to detect a person or movement, as well as motion detectors set on all the paintings. If a painting had been so much as touched, the alarm would have sounded. Peter remembered that aspect of this case, before he was sacked up in the hospital. So a theft in this gallery would be practically impossible.

Peter suspected right away that it had to be an inside job. It had to be someone who knew the layout of the gallery and how to get past the Fort Knox of technology installed.

Mrs. Gemma Reynolds sold high end art to the ridiculously wealthy. So when her late husband's family owned art gallery in Manhattan had been robbed, she called the FBI. The nerve, Peter thought. He didn't want the case but he couldn't deny getting it on the grounds that he didn't work to be a personal call boy, especially for the snooty and obscenely wealthy Mrs. Reynolds

Neal on the other hand floated through the gallery admiringly, unperturbed they had been waiting a little too long to be graced by their hostess. Neal seemed to appreciate every painting he walked by. Peter wondered if he would be like that in bed. Would he be as thorough and sure about every aspect of him? Peter felt his stomach flip at the thought of Neal leaning over him, gloriously naked, surveying him with those brilliant blue eyes as if a fine piece of art. A surge of tension gripped him, his erection stirring to life unexpectedly. Damnit, he berated himself. He shouldn't be thinking about this- not now. He had a job to do.

It didn't help that Neal was bent over examining a piece of artwork up close, because Peter couldn't help but examine his ass, perfectly toned and tight. A flush came over him and he glanced away. He kept thinking about what Neal had said, jumping into his boat. He wanted to jump with everything he had. He wanted to let Neal devour him. The idea alone made his knees weak with anticipation. And the kiss they shared last night.

Peter still reeled from it. It was so devastatingly desperate and needy, he was surprised he was able to leave after that and not haul Neal up against the wall and fuck him senselessly. Oh how he wanted to. Peter sat in his car for a few minutes and tried to calm himself before driving home. He ended up slipping into the house later, going straight to the bathroom and masturbating. He was so hard and stiff that the release came quickly and wonderfully since his mouth still held Neal's flavor and his lips burned with his kiss.

Peter knew after that, that it couldn't happen again. It was too risky. There were too many things at stake. His job at the bureau- getting involved, sexually with the man he was suppose to have under his custody and constant watch, not a good idea. But more importantly El. His lovely wife, whom he had always remained loyal to and loved through years of marriage. He sighed, pushing those thoughts away. He didn't want to hurt her.

Neal glanced over his shoulder at Peter and smiled. He acted like a giddy teenager sometimes when they had to work with art that he actually liked. Which meant Peter kept an even closer eye on his art thief/conman.

Mrs. Reynolds finally turned on her heel and locked eyes with him. Peter went to her, knowing he had to go to her, not the other way around. Her dark red hair was swept into a layer mass on her head, and her dress screamed expensive, along with her manicured nails and jewels glittering her wrists.

"Agent Burke, so glad you could stop by today," she said formally on the gallery floor.

He nodded stiffly, "Would you care to discuss the information you called about here or somewhere a little more private?"

She smiled, her face finally becoming more relaxed towards him, "Good idea, follow me please."

Peter coughed towards Neal. He spun on his heel instantly, his hand on his hat, as though about to break out in a Gene Kelly dance. Neal eyes widened and he followed Peter as they headed towards Mrs. Reynolds office.

Mrs. Reynolds gestured to the lavish couch at the far end of the room as she took the chair across from them. It was a formal room, to help potential clients close the deal. It had the air of expensive but tasteful, even Peter could recognize that. Her assistant came in with a tea tray ready, but Mrs. Reynolds waved her off with a flourishing hand.

The door shut and Mrs. Reynolds expression grew somber. Peter could tell that whatever she had to tell them weighed on her considerably. Maybe she too suspected that it was an inside job on the art heist and had a few suspects in mind that she didn't come forward with before.

Mrs. Reynolds handsome features seemed strained and older. "Last night I was just informed by the head of security that our power has been acting up." She pursed her lips, "our power is crucial to the security systems I had installed to protect the art here. When I heard this, I realized that someone must have tampered with our private generator."

"In the file it mentions you have your own backup unit- specifically for the security equipment." Peter said, clarifying.

She nodded, "It didn't register with the computer system until this morning when we had another power failure last night. Whoever broke in originally must have erased the hard drive of ever having a power outage."

"But still sloppy enough to not properly fix the generator so it wouldn't do it again." Neal added.

"My men discovered that our backup generator had been tampered with this morning, yes." She said perturbed.

"Mrs. Reynolds, you mentioned before all the people who had access to your gallery and the security. We checked them out and their alibis cleared. So unless you have information on who, instead of the how- it still really doesn't help us here." Peter said firmly, playing on the thought that she might know more than she was letting on.

He knew Mrs. Reynolds was holding back on him. He'd seen this a million times before. She had real information to give him, not some lame power outage story. She brought him here for a reason, "So can you think of anyone else who would want to steal from you…?"

She chewed nervously on her lower lip and then abruptly stopped. Unwilling to say anything.

"Personally, when I heard that Klimt's Adele had been stolen, I was appalled," Neal said dramatically, leaning in to convey this. Peter sent a scathing look to Neal, he was just about to get Mrs. Reynolds to crack, but no, Neal just had to put his charms on her. Neal continued, undaunted by the hole Peter was currently burning into the side of his head with his eyes, "I mean- who on earth would steal such a beautiful painting."

Mrs. Reynolds softened to Neal, "Yes. It was one of my late husband's favorites." Her eyes watered slightly, which made Peter reel. It was the first real emotion she had shown all afternoon, aside from anger.

"Klimt is known for his beautiful women, I'm sure you're husband appreciated his tastes, especially with a redhead of his own." Neal's charm oozed off him and all over the unsuspecting widow. Peter felt the urge to eye roll, but resisted, seeing as how Mrs. Reynolds was starting to open up.

She smiled weakly at Neal, "My husband collected many of Klimt's works. It was tragic to see such a painting stolen from our gallery."

Neal patted her hand reassuringly. "The FBI is doing everything they can to find this invaluable piece of work, Mrs. Reynolds. Unfortunately, there have not been many leads."

She sighed, "Yes- that is really the reason why I called today, Agent Burke." Her sad eyes gazed over to him. "I believe I know who took the painting…" she swallowed, eyes brimming. "My late husbands' son, Walter Reynolds."

* * *

><p>Neal beamed like he just stole a priceless piece of artwork from the Smithsonian.<p>

Peter didn't even acknowledge him as they walked down the street, towards the university where Walter Reynolds was in class. According to Mrs. Reynolds he was majoring in photography at NYU and in class this afternoon.

"Aw, c'mon Peter! I totally got her for you." Neal said, grinning like an idiot.

"No you didn't, cause I had her first." Peter pointed accusingly at him.

"It's not my fault I can speak lingo. A woman like her response to flattery and art."

"No- you just had to smile and bat your pretty eyes at her. Damnit Neal, could you just let me do my job on occasion, please."

"You think I have pretty eyes?" Neal teased lightly, still smiling.

Peter shot him a glare, "Stop redirecting."

"What? Do you really think she would've just handed over her husband's kid like that to a fed? No- she wanted to protect the family name, you heard how she talked about her husband."

"Yeah, I wonder if she realized the Adele had brown hair, not red like Klimt usually paints."

Neal stared at him, shocked. "Peter… how do you know about Gustav Klimt?"

Peter shrugged indifferently, trying not to show Neal how much he really knew about Klimt. In truth, Peter was a huge fan. It was a rarity for him to actually be interested in art, unless the FBI was. So he had been surprised when he saw one of Klimt's paintings and actually liked it. Now going after one of Klimt's pieces, he realized how personal it felt having someone steal it. "I dunno- I think I saw something on the history channel about him. He did water colors right?"

Neal frowned at him in contempt, "He painted with oils, Peter."

Peter hid the smile on his lips at the disgust he heard in Neal's voice. He liked surprising Neal, but this, was his little secret.

They approached the campus and headed toward the art department. A receptionist student intercepted them and directed them to the photography classrooms. When they walked into the photography room, it was empty except for a young man listening to his ipod, bent over a camera, with his long blond wavy hair over his face.

"Hey- where's Reynolds?" Peter asked loudly to the kid with the ear buds.

The young man gave him a dazed look before saying, "In the red room, dude."

"Sweet, thanks man," Peter replied.

"No problem, bro." The kid said happily.

As they walked away, Neal whispered behind him, "I think you made a connection."

Peter smirked, "I spoke his lingo."

He opened the red room door and saw Walter Reynolds pinning up a wet, undeveloped photo on the wire. The young man shot a hard look over his shoulder, "Do you mind?"

Peter cocked his eyebrow, "Not at all." He flashed his badge. "Agent Burke, FBI," he stated, "Got a minute?"

They stood outside the red room, Walter's hands still wet from the photography. Walter Reynolds had the same air of posh sophistication his step-mother had. Except he also seemed to have a sense of entitlement. His face was young and handsome, rich light brown hair, slicked back and with the face of a model, that Peter was sure made the girls on campus fall all over him. He was built rather lengthy and wore a polo shirt and blazer. Peter couldn't tell if he had just got off a golf-course or if that was all the rich kids his age wore.

"What can I help you with, Agent Burke?" Walter asked politely, a cool and almost knowing smile on his face.

"I'm sure you heard about your step-mother's art theft a few weeks ago," he stated easily not wanting to arise his suspicious.

"Of course, she was devastated. That was one of my father's favorite pieces. "

"Can you tell me where you were the night of the robbery?"

Walter nodded, "I was with my girlfriend, Elisa. I remember getting the call from Gemma about the artwork that night."

Peter studied his face, looking for any signs of deception. He saw nothing. Maybe he just needed to push a little harder. "And Elisa will confirm this?" He asked.

"Yeah, absolutely. Here's her number," Walter pulled out his phone and read off her number to Peter, which he wrote down along with her name.

"I'll be sure to give her a call then," Peter said, flipping his notebook closed. He waited a beat, just staring at the young man, wondering how he wanted to break him. Walter just stared back.

"Is there anything else you need from me, Agent Burke?"

"I don't know- you tell me," he asked, folding his arms across his body, waiting.

Walter sighed, as though he knew what Peter had been hinting at. "Gemma put you up to this right?"

"Why do you say that?" Neal chimed in.

"She hates me. Always has. Ever since dad died a few years ago and I got the inheritance early, she became bitter and distant." He shook his head, clearly upset. "She only calls when there's a problems at the gallery."

"Why would she do that?"

"I own half the gallery, which she forgets most of the time. Except if there's a robbery or problems with the digital toys she has in there."

Peter nodded, putting the pieces together in his head. "So when she called you, it was because the Adele had been stolen."

Walter gave him a resigned look, "She was covering her ass. Honestly, I don't care what happens to that gallery anymore. I mean, my father is gone. She's the one burning the torch for him with that place."

"You don't mind that she's selling your dad's Klimt collection?" Neal asked curiously.

Walter shrugged, "I never cared for it myself. Especially after having a father like I did, who spent most of his time worshiping his collection than spending any time with his actual son." His handsome features turned stony, his bright green eyes helpless. "Gemma can do what she wants with what's left of my dad's legacy. I got mine- a shove out the door and a check for my inheritance after his death. I said my good-byes to that family a long time ago, Agent Burke."

* * *

><p>Peter drove, his mind on what Walter Reynolds said. He wondered what the kid was hiding. He seemed a little too eager to out his father and make himself look like the good guy.<p>

"So you believe him?" Neal asked from besides him in the passenger seat.

"I haven't figured that out yet." Peter said thoughtfully.

Neal turned to glance out the window, "Headed back to the office?"

"Yeah, review what I have of the case. I feel like I'm missing something."

"Well, you were in a hospital bed for a few weeks," Neal reminded him.

"That's no excuse, I should've looked at the case more before we left today," he berated himself.

Neal's blue eyes met his, "If you're heading back- I think I'll call it a night."

Peter stopped at a red-light, "Want me to take you to June's?"

"Yeah, thanks."

A few minutes later Peter pulled up in front of Neal's building. Neal's hand hesitated on the door knob, his eyes trained on the streets ahead, as though thinking about what to do next. Peter waited, his heart lurched up into his throat all of a sudden.

"Peter…" Neal said in a low, husky voice. His bright blue eyes turned to him, they were stormy and full of emotion. "I was serious about what I said earlier today."

Peter gazed over the handsome contours of his face. "The boat?" he asked vaguely, distracted by Neal's hunger reflected in his eyes.

Neal's jaw muscle twitched. "Yeah- the boat," he gruffed out as he moved closer to Peter. He leaned in, his body inching forward and his lips close, just a breath away. Peter felt his skin tingle and his body jerk in response. "I'm beginning to wonder if I already jumped in your boat…" he breathed before capturing his mouth with his.

Peter's heart slammed so hard into his ribcage, he thought he cracked a few bones. He heard Neal's low, guttural groan as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking out Peter's warm heat. Peter opened his mouth instinctively, needing to taste him. The kiss was druggingly slow and hot. Neal ran a hand across his cheek and fingers through his hair, before gripping the back of his head and pushing him harder into the kiss. Peter whimpered, taking a frantic breath before diving in again, opening himself to Neal. Neal took and took, his mouth possessive and insistent.

Peter wanted to respond, wanted to hold him, touch him… but just as quickly as the kiss happened, it ended. Neal drew back, a hungry desire burning in his eyes. "I guess it's up to you if you throw me back or not, Peter." He whispered, his eyes straying on his lips. Peter clenched his jaw, breathing choppy and heart wild. He resisted the urge to reach out. Neal saw the battle within and moved to open the door.

Neal vanished up the steps to the building and was gone. Peter began to wonder if he ever really caught Neal in the first place, or if he just let him slip through his hands.

**_TBC_**


	7. Ch 7: The Kiss

**Chapter 7: The Kiss**

Neal sipped the dark wine. It tasted bitter and sweet in his mouth. He licked his lips, savoring the flavor. Mozzie left this bottle at his apartment a while ago and Neal felt it was in his right to enjoy the pleasures of it now. Neal's eyes traveled back to the painting he had been working on. Lately he hadn't been motivated or even inspired to pick up his paint brush. All inspiration died when Peter was in the hospital.

Now he was painting again. He was recreating a piece from one of Kilmt's works. After reviewing all of the artist's pieces because of the case he was working on with Peter, he felt that spark of passion to paint again. Usually he painted only to con or forge. Tonight, he did it to calm his mind and soul.

He spent the past two days with Peter since his return to the job and everything had changed between them. Everything. Tonight he refused to dwell on it, so he painted. Neal wanted to lose himself in this. He wanted to forget the images and emotions that haunted him. Images of Peter, bleeding and broken on a hospital bed, the need that burned in those brown eyes when they kissed, the fear Neal felt when he thought Peter wouldn't make it, the rage he that coursed through him when he realized how he wanted to kill the man who shot Peter. The shooter- Victor Niltz. It was only a matter of time before Neal got his revenge.

He lost track of time and forgot his worries. Hours or mere minutes passed, he didn't care of know. Vivid colors, the scent of oil, the soft sounds of the brush stroking against the canvas filled his senses… suddenly there was a light knock on his door. Neal pulled his gaze from the painting and to the door. Reluctantly, he set his brush and oils down besides his empty wine glass on the table. He glanced up at the clock, it was past midnight and he wasn't exactly dressed for company, he wore only his faded jeans. Neal looked around the room for the shirt he had discarded early but when the knock persisted, he sighed indignantly and walked barefoot to the door.

The door opened to reveal Peter. Neal felt his heart lurch. He took pleasure at the sight of his FBI agent. Peter wore a black t-shirt and jeans, casual and laid back. The blackness of his shirt made his eyes seem darker, more intense. Neal watched as Peter's eyes traveled down the length of his nude torso, the heat unmistakable as he paused over the crotch of his jeans. Neal felt a rush of anticipation, his knees wobbled beneath him and his cock instantly responded to Pete's hot gaze.

Neal cracked open the door wider and stepped back, nonverbally telling him to come inside. Peter entered the apartment. Neal felt the emotions he buried this evening come simmering to the surface. All those sexual feeling coursed through him like fire. He wanted to taste him, suck him dry and hear him scream out his name in pleasure…

Peter walked inside and turned to his painting. Mild surprise crossed his face and then admiration, "Did you paint this?"

Neal moved to him, resisting the urge to reach out and clasp his hand over Peter's muscled arm. Instead he turned to look at the painting too, "I'm not finished yet. But I'm getting there…"

"It looks amazing, Neal," Peter said impressed. "I haven't seen his work so vividly done before. Incredible." He moved closer and examined the artwork. The paint was still fresh but Peter didn't seem to mind.

"I thought you didn't know Klimt," Neal commented.

Peter finally looked up from the painting and shot him a boyish smile. "I lied."

Neal reeled, "really?"

Peter laughed, "Don't look so shocked. You were ready to believe I didn't know anything about Klimt, so I let you."

Neal shook his head, surprised that he managed to lie to him and get away with it. When had Neal become too distracted to pick up on Peter's lies? Maybe because he became emotionally compromised when it came to his fed. Or maybe after they kissed last night…?

"What are you doing here, Peter? I'm sure it's not to talk about Klimt." Neal said smoothly, though his heart suddenly began to race again. Peter never came here unannounced unless it involved the case or an emergency. But he had a gut feeling it had nothing to do with either reason.

Peter poured the remaining wine from the bottle into Neal's empty glass. He picked it up and sipped from the spot Neal's lips had been from the rim. Neal felt his cock stiffen, watching Peter drink the whole glass down without stopping. He would usually chastise him for not savoring the wine, but at the moment, he was too focused on the movement of his throat and the way the shirt clung to his toned chest.

"I think we both know why I'm here, Neal." Peter breathed out in a husky voice, setting the empty glass on the table.

Neal felt his heart jolt and his breathing grow heavy with excitement.

Peter watched him, seeming almost defeated from the inner battle that had gone on inside him, ready to give in and willing to be taken. Neal reached out and placed his hand over the chest of his chest, stroking up and down the curves of his muscles. He felt and heard the quickening of his breath. Excitement fluttered in his belly as his cock pressed against the fly of his jeans.

"So you're staying…?" Neal whispered hopefully.

The look on Peter's face was one that Neal knew he would remember the rest of his life. Wariness. Hope and defeat. But more importantly, hunger. Yes, a hunger that seemed to burn right through his with just a look. Neal knew it was reflected on his own face, in the way he was standing and breathing. It was in his voice as he spoke, "yeah, Neal. The whole night."

Neal smiled in weak happiness, his hand clenching the fabric of Peter's shirt and pulling it forward. Peter met him more than halfway in a full body slam of a kiss that was ferocious and frantic. Neal's heart leapt into the kiss, devouring and taking. Peter groaned, slipping his tongue urgently into Neal's warm, wet mouth. They both clung to each other, pulling at their clothes and kissing through frantic breaths. Peter hurled him against the table, the back of his knees the edge, his back slamming against the table. Somewhere in the distance he heard the wine glass fall and shatter. Then he heard Peter's hard in-take of breath as he unclasped his jeans. Neal whimpered, loving the pressure of Peter's hard fingers working their magic over his towering erection which now throbbed to be touched.

Peter managed to tug off his jeans and toss them to the floor. He spread his legs and Peter maneuvered between them, making Neal's thighs brush against his waist. Peter grabbed his face and pulled him in for another kiss. It was more torrid and hurried then the last one, lips fighting for dominance and teeth scraping in rushed desire.

Neal arched his back off the table, needing to feel more of Peter. Peter grunted as if in pain and jerked his hips forward. Their cocks slammed into each other, making Neal grip the edge of the table and bite his lower lip from the sudden tension tingling up him. His tip felt sensitive to the friction that Peter now caused. He arched again, greeting each hard pound from Peter. But it still wasn't enough. Desperate, Neal sat up and ripped Peter's shirt over his head. Peter's breath came out hard as he let Neal throw it to the side. They locked eyes, both burning with unresolved need as they sought each other out for another soul wrenching kiss. It was hard, brutal and desperate. Neal tasted the fire Peter felt and let his control slip into the passion that engulfed them.

Legs still spread and opened on the table, Peter reached between them and began unbuttoning his jeans. The back of his knuckles grazed of Neal's throbbing cock and he whimpered, gripping the back of his neck, his body instinctively jerking upwards. A rough laugh escaped the back of Peter's throat as he did it again, making a bead of precum form on his throbbing head. Muscles taunt, stomach clenching, ass flexing, Neal clamped down on the explosion ready to rip through him.

"Peter…" he moaned heavily, caressing the softness of his hair. "Please…" he begged, desperate to give in to the orgasm.

Peter understood and stepped out of his jeans, "Bed…?" he asked gruffly.

Neal shook his head, "No… time…" he panted and grabbed the naked Peter pulling him in closer. Peter shook beneath him as he grunted and lifted him off the table, knelt and laid them down on the floor, his own erection straining against Neal.

Unable to control his body his jerked his hips forward, as Peter knelt over him, Neal's cock brushing up against his stomach. Peter held him down and kissed the side of his neck, his hands venturing over his muscles and down his side, touching everywhere. He flicked briefly over his nipples, until they were tight and taunt, before moving to clasp his firm ass cheeks. Neal writhed and moaned like a cat on the floor, erection tingling for release. He saw the control in Peter's face as he slid himself on top of him and lowered his own, beautiful manhood under him and.. .

Neal gasped and jerked upwards, standing on the brick of explosion even though Peter had yet to thrust into him. Peter too gasped, his hold body tense and his eyes hard.

"Peter…" Neal gasped, he begged out his name, needing him to finish him off. Peter did. He slammed into him, over and over. The both moaned together, Neal reached out and clung to him, his hands wrapping over his back and then his hard butt, urging him further inside, opening himself more to all of him. He quickened the pace, madly and fantastically. Both clinging to each other, sweat dripping from their lean bodies. Neal's heart expanded in his chest as he breathed in the scent of Peter, burying his face into his neck ready for the release that had been building.

Panting, sweating and fucking mindlessly on the floor. Neal couldn't have imagined it any hotter. He bit down hard on Peter's neck, his body suddenly tensed, his cock close. Suddenly he felt Peter's hand slip between their bodies and he grabbed his cock and pulled mightily, making Neal shatter. He cried out his name as Peter continued thrusting into him until he found his own release. The eruption was glorious. He savored every second of it.

With a huff, Peter pulled out then collapsed on top of him. Breathless and spent. Neal panted, kissing the side of his neck over the frantically beating pulse. He spread his legs and slid them over Peter's waist, holding him against him. Peter sighed, breathing heavily, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of their sex.

After a few moments, Neal trailed a gentle hand over the contours of his back. "Peter…"

He finally looked at him, his eyes still hungry for more as he looked down at him. Neal saw the muscle in his jaw flex and without saying anything, reached between them and grasped onto his cock. Their eyes locked, Peter watched him as he gripped firmly from the base and pulled all the way up. Neal cried out weakly, mouth agape, muscles tightening again. His legs limply fell away from Peter, who seemed to relish Neal's submission. He pulled upwards to the very tip of him and pressed down on the slit of his head, the pad of his thumb toying with him, until he writhed on the floor.

He leaned down and captured his earlobe with his mouth, sucking and biting it. Neal gasped, loving the feel of his mouth on him. Peter licked, then moved to his neck and sucked hard, so hard, Neal felt the sting of pain mixed with ecstasy. His hips arched upwards, greeting every movement of Peter's hand. His stroke became harder and faster. Neal dug his fingers into his back, letting his hips buck beneath him. Peter groaned, clearly liking Neal's response. "God… you're beautiful, Neal." He breathed into the shell of his ear, sending Neal right over the edge. The explosion of the orgasm nearly split him in half. His body relaxed and melted onto the floor.

Peter suddenly stood, bringing Neal with him. Neal wavered on his feet, his limps heavy and body wonderfully sedated. Peter laughed, smiling down on him, their bodies touching. He walked them to the bedroom but not before snagging a towel from the bathroom and wiping them down from their sweat and lovemaking. Neal felt a smile tug on his lips as he fell onto bed, limply.

Peter looked just as exhausted as he laid down besides him. Neal moved in and buried the side of his face into Peter's chest, breathing in his musky male scent. Peter exhaled and lazily ran his fingers through his hair, lulling him into sleep. But before he departed for dreamland, Neal asked, "Will you be here when I wake up?"

Peter's dark eyes were tender and smiling, "Yeah. I'll be here."

Neal heart swelled with love as he smiled up at his agent. He would never forget this night. Tomorrow was not important, only tonight- only this moment, wrapped in the arms of the man he had fallen in love with. Neal could only hope after tonight Peter would recognize what they have together as more than friendship. It was up to Peter now to make the choice. Neal couldn't do it for him.

Except Neal knew that Peter wouldn't be able to stand in the fire of what they had together for too long, without being consumed.

**_TBC_**


	8. Ch 8: A True Risk

**Chapter 8: A True Risk**

Peter awoke. He inhaled the sweet musk of Neal, who was still lying on top of him, his arm draped carelessly over his chest and leg tangled between his. Peter felt a tug of a smile trace his lips. He closed his eyes and lowered his face, brushing his nose and lips through his messy black hair. He breathed in his scent, cherishing the intimacy of this moment.

He glanced over to the window and noticed the sun was barely up. He sighed. A new day already, he thought dully. Oh how he would give anything to remain in bed… all day with Neal. That would be pretty amazing. What they had last night was incredible. He never experienced anything like that in his life. He remembered with perfect clarity the way Neal cried out his name, his muscles flexing, his mouth open in pure ecstasy as he came twice beneath him. Peter never thought in a million years he would be the one making Neal crazy with lust, or hot with desire. But the way they went at it last night, was mind blowing.

Peter relished in the sight of Neal, cumming and desperate for him. He was more vulnerable than he ever saw him. It made his heart fill with such blinding happiness, knowing he was the one who made Neal ache.

Sometimes Peter felt in awe over Neal. He was so charming and beautiful, the ladies seeming to fall at his feet, wanting him. He was envious at times. Now, he held that very man in his arms, and last night he was the one who made him burn.

Suddenly Peter thought of the night he was shot. Confusing emotions clouding his mind as he bled out in the alleyway. And yet, even in that moment of possible death, he thought of Neal. He thought of how much he meant… Peter stiffened. After their night together, how could he deny the feelings of love now? Was it love that he felt? Or just lust? Peter knew deep down, his eyes trailing over the slumbering Neal, that this had always been more than lust. So much more…

He rubbed a weary hand over his face, contemplating. He didn't have time to dwell on his complicated love life at the moment.

He had a job to do and a case to solve. Including his own.

Peter slid carefully out of Neal's embrace and left the bed. He gazed over the sleeping conman and felt a tug at his heart strings. He wanted nothing more to curl back up in the warmth of Neal, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't risk it. He had to go. He couldn't focus on his feelings for Neal. He needed to figure out who shot him.

A few minutes later, Peter was dressed and walking out of June's building. He inhaled the fresh morning air and looked across the street to his car. Keys in hand he glanced both ways. The street was empty. It was still too early for traffic or people on their way to work. Halfway across the street he heard the squealing of tires. His eyes shot to the sound and saw a black, monstrous truck barreling down on him. He tried to catch a glimpse of the driver before he ran and leapt out of the way, rolling on top of the hood of his car. He cursed, pain shooting up his recovering arm as he jarred it by rolling off the hood and hitting the ground.

Suddenly the tires squealed again, this time coming back around at another attempt to kill him. Peter didn't have his gun. He was helpless against the truck. He crawled to the other side of the car, on the sidewalk, back pressed against the car door. The truck slammed into the side of his car, the sounds of ripping metal and glass shattering echoed through the air. He covered his head, as glass pelted his back.

"Peter!" He heard Neal yell from the steps of the building. The truck suddenly sped off. Peter watched it take off down the street, the license plate covered, and the vehicle unmarked other than the giant scrape on the side.

"Peter!" Neal cried out again, this time desperate.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he grunted out, holding his arm, the pain excruciating.

Neal reached him, dropping to his knees, eyes wide in panic. He touched the side of his face, "Are you sure?" he frowned, glancing over his arm.

"I hit my shoulder… damnit," he fumed, hitting the back of his head on the car door. "I should've moved faster…"

"Then a car? You could've been killed," Neal said incredulously.

Peter cursed, "That's the second time this month."

Neal suddenly became quiet and eyed the street. "C'mon," he said after a minute, "we should get you to the hospital."

"No," Peter breathed, "no hospitals. Not again."

Neal sent him a hard and unshakable look. "I'm taking you to the hospital, Peter. Don't argue with me."

Peter let out a resigned grunt and let Neal help him to his feet. He couldn't argue with Neal when he was determined like this. He also noted that Neal was only wearing a pair of jeans. The same pair from the night before, the ones Peter had stripped from him last night. "Maybe you should get some clothes on before we go?"

Neal just rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>Hughes paced the conference room, livid. "This is the second attempt on a federal agent's life." He glowered angrily at them, "there will not be a third, damnit. Let's find this guy and put a stop to this, got it?"<p>

The agents in the room nodded and immediately stood, Diana and Jones included, moving towards the door, not wanting to hear anymore yelling from their boss's boss. Peter just sat there, arm in a sling feeling rather helpless and equally frustrated as Hughes.

"Do you want me to leave?" Neal asked casually, eye-balling the door behind him.

Hughes gestured to the door with a dismissive wave, "Yeah- get out of here Cafferey. You've done enough for the day. Go home."

Neal hesitated before leaving, gaze locking with Peter's one last time. Peter felt his throat clench. He wanted to talk to Neal. He didn't have time to explain why he ran out this morning, let alone once they went to the hospital. Now after everything, Neal's eyes brimmed compassion and tenderness. Peter longed to follow him as he left the conference room and office for the day. He sighed, and then cleared his throat. He needed to be on his A-game with Hughes here. He couldn't have Neal distracting him at the moment anyway.

"Do you think the attempts on your life have anything to do with the case you're working on?" Hughes asked, still pacing.

"No, sir. I had only been just assigned the case when the first shooting happened."

"Did you talk to anyone, suspects on the case?"

"I only talked to Reynolds, her lawyer and her step-son with a phone message."

Hughes let out a frustrated breath. He stopped pacing and gripped the back of an empty chair, his eyes blistering. "I want this guy found, Burke." His tone became ominous as he said, "I don't want third time to be the charm, you got it?"

"Yes, sir. Neither do I."

Peter went back to his office, called and talked to El. He told her everything, except where he was prior to the second attempt on his life. Elizabeth was reasonably calm, though worried and wanted him home, especially since he didn't come home the night before. He had to repeatedly reassure her he'd been home as soon as he could. After he hung up, he felt villainous. He had to tell El about Neal. He just didn't know how or when. It wasn't fair to her to lie or cheat. Except right now, was not the time for a heart to heart.

He was seriously giving what Neal said some thought about the shooting being involved with the case he was currently working on. But how? He couldn't see who- out of the Reynolds case would want him dead. He barely made any leg work on the case before the shooting. So how could the case be connected?

He had interview the whole family, and had Jones and Diana interview the ones he couldn't get to. Maybe they talked to someone? His mind raced with possibilities. He talked to mostly Mrs. Reynolds and her attorney. Nothing more, though he did reach out to Walter Reynolds, leaving a voicemail. Still, that was nothing worth killing an FBI agent over.

Neal had it wrong, he thought. The Reynolds art heist had nothing to do with the shooting. Peter reopened his case files, his mind racing with possibilities.

* * *

><p>The club was exactly the kind of place Neal imagined a hit man would hang out at. Dark, smoky and surrounded by beautiful people. Scantily clad women danced on small platforms around the dance floor, while people gathered around them, jumping and humping against each other to blaringly loud industrial rock. The music flowed through him and pounded into his skull. He didn't mind the music so much as the volume. But he wouldn't be staying long. He had someone to find. Victor Niltz. The triggerman hitman hired to kill Peter.

He planned on finding him tonight and getting his much needed pay back.

He headed to the bar and ordered a shot. The beautiful blond behind the glass counter smiled at him and poured the shot. He leaned in, holding a fifty. She smirked, her painted lips clearly liking the sight of extra cash as she too leaned closer to Neal.

"I'm looking for someone…"

She nodded, her eyes surveying the bar, "You a cop?"

Neal laughed, "Never. I just wanna find a friend- you understand," he said smiling at her, his blue eyes light and casual. He didn't want to set off any alarms that he didn't already have to. He was less than a mile outside his FBI tether. He had to make this fast. And just hoped Peter was too distracted at the office to bother with his ankle monitor.

"His name is Victor Niltz. You know him?" He asked smiling.

She nodded again but this time toward the direction of the back of the nightclub. "He's a regular. He's in the back. There's a private table back there."

Neal handed her the cash and gave her a thankful smile before heading towards Victor.

Tonight was the night he got his justice- his revenge. Tonight he planned on risking everything for what he almost lost. What could've sent him spiraling over the edge of oblivion. The idea of loosing Peter sent chills down his spine every time and now, tonight- it was it. After seeing Peter nearly runned downed in front of him this morning, only reaffirmed what he had to do. It was his moment to finally go after something that was worthwhile- a true risk.

His heart hammered in his chest as he slid through the dancing crowds towards Victor's table.

The table was secluded from the rest of the dance floor, giving Neal the privacy he needed to lure Victor out. He saw a handsome man, sitting in the darken booth, surrounded by two beautiful young women. Drinks littered their table and he smiled seductively at the blond wrapped around his arm. Her pretty eyes moved to Neal, who stood in front of the table looking down on them.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said with a smirk as he winked at the blond playfully.

She giggled and sent him a comely smile. Victor didn't seem pleased by her or Neal. His dark black eyes focused in on him, intense and hostile. The first thing Neal noticed about this man, was the unmistakable allure of power he had. It seemed to radiate off him. And the tattoos. Dark, sprawling tattoos run up his neck and over his hands. Neal assumed that the tattoos probably traced his whole body but he couldn't tell because Victor wore a posh black Armani suit.

His black hair was cut short and close to his skull, his face was almost harsh in its severe beauty. It was almost as if he tried to hide his handsome face with stumble and the gruffness of the tattoos.

"Who are you?" He asked, his heavy Russian accent told Neal he had the right man. His heart beat excitedly.

"A potential client," he replied coolly.

Victor raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, "Who sent you?"

"The same person who hired you to…" Neal hesitated, glancing between the two beautiful women and said delicately, "kill a fed."

Victor's black eyes narrowed and he whispered something in Russian to the ladies and they pouted, leaving the booth.

Victor stood, his tall build almost seemed imposing on Neal, but it didn't. Neal felt strong and sure. He knew what he was doing. Knew what he was risking. He didn't care. He knew he was being reckless, but it didn't matter.

"We step outside, yeah?" Victor said and walked to the exit, covered in darkness. They walked out together in a deserted alleyway, Neal's heart racing.

He couldn't go back now. He reached underneath his jacket and the minute the door shut behind him and they were totally alone in the black alleyway, Neal pulled out his gun.

Victor spun on his heel, gun in his hand as well.

Neal smirked knowingly. "A Mexican stand off?" he asked playfully, circling Victor, finger caressing the trigger, ready to pull.

Victor smiled back darkly, "Maybe. Who sent you?"

Neal narrowed his eyes, "It doesn't really matter who sent me." He moved forward threateningly, startling Victor. He took a cautious step backwards, gun wavering slightly.

Neal glared at him angrily, "I just want to know one thing from you Victor and I'll be on my way."

Victor's voice was rough, unsure. "Just a question? This is not a set up?" He asked gravely.

"Not a set up, Victor. All I want is an answer."

He nodded, reading truth in Neal's eyes. "Ask your question then."

"Did you shoot the federal agent?"

Victor paused then nodded, a smile gleaming on his lips. "Yeah, I shot him." Pride glimmered in the hitman's dead eyes. Neal felt his blood run cold. The nerves he had been feeling, holding the loaded gun, vanished. A sense of calm filled him.

Neal aimed carefully and fired.

**_TBC_**


	9. Ch 9: Trigger Snap

**Chapter 9**

The trigger snapped under his finger. Neal expected the power of the gun so his stance was sure and prepared for the kick. He watched as the bullet caused Victor's body to snap backwards and crumble to the floor. His hand released the gun. It dropped uselessly away and out of reach. Victor cringed in pain as his hand covered the bullet wound over his shoulder. Blood seeped from between his fingers. Neal expected to feel a moment of triumph, or victory. But he didn't. All he felt was more anger. He wanted to know who hired the bastard who pulled the trigger on Peter. He wanted a name. Nothing mattered more.

The hitman's harsh, black eyes blazed angrily, "I'll kill you," he promised menacingly.

Neal arched an unconvinced eyebrow, unafraid of the subdued killer. "That's probably not the smartest thing to have said to the man holding the gun."

Victor cursed him.

Neal picked up Victor's gun and shoved it into his coat pocket. "Tell me who hired you and I won't kill you. Simple as that."

The Russian's thick jaw muscle twitched. "How can I trust you?"

Neal felt his insides clench angrily. He would've given anything to finish the job and put a bullet in this killer's brain but he couldn't. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison. But Victor didn't know that.

"You can't." He stated easily, pretending indifference. "But if you give me the name of the person who hired you, I might be inclined to let you live, Victor."

Victor grumbled, holding his injured and bleeding shoulder. "A woman…" he breathed out through his obvious pain and discomfort. "Said her name was Adele… "

Neal felt the jolt of awareness. Adele… just like the painting that had been stolen from the Reynolds case. That meant there was a connection, he thought, mind racing.

"She only made contact with me by phone…"

"Do you have her number?"

He nodded and pulled out his cell-phone with his good arm. Neal snagged it, slipping it into his empty pocket. "Thanks," he muttered. He looked down at him curiously, as a thought struck him. "How did this woman find you anyway?"

He bit back a sigh, as he said, "A man… goes by the name Kirill. He owns a bar downtown…"

Neal interrupted him before he could finish, "The Shady Lady…"

Victor's eyes narrowed suspiciously and nodded. "He sent her to me."

Neal tried not to dwell on the stabbing he suddenly felt in his back. Why would Kirill send him to Victor? Did he know all along? He thought Kirill was only the source of information- not involved in any hits. All these questions started bubbling up inside him. But now was not the time or place to contemplate. He had a bleeding hitman glaring daggers up at him and two loaded guns on him. Yeah, Neal had been in tight situations before but this was starting to feel a bit too confining.

Neal had everything he needed from the Russian gangster anyway. He headed down the opposite end of the alleyway, away from the street and possible onlookers. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice from behind him. His heart sank.

"Stop! Freeze!" Peter's voice shouted from the other side of the alleyway. Neal had the urge to run. He had no idea why. Maybe instinct? Fleeing from the police or any government agency had been one of his many specialties. Or maybe it was because it was Peter. His Peter. The reason he was standing in this alleyway, with two guns and a bleeding hitman. All because he loved this idiot and now, probably going to pay a severe price for it too.

He knew he was in deep shit and the very last person in the world he wanted to show up, stood yards away, probably with a gun trained on his back. Back still turned to Peter, he slowly raised his hands above his head and slowly turned around.

The second their eyes collided, he saw the look of shock turn to utter disappointment on Peter's usually stoic face. Peter's expression swiftly vanished when he noticed the gun in Neal's hand. "Drop the weapon."

Neal motioned to the hitman, lying feet from him. "I'm not gonna shoot but he might…"

Peter turned his eyes to the man on the ground and nodded, understanding Neal's intentions and motioned him forward. Neal came willingly. Peter intercepted him and took the gun from his open hand. Neal watched, feeling guilty as Peter gritted his teeth, pain briefly flashing in his eyes from his shoulder.

Neal noticed then that he wasn't wearing the sling from earlier. "Peter…" He reached out, concerned.

"Don't," Peter interrupted, "Is he armed?" he asked gesturing to the man still lying in the alley.

Neal shook his head, not bothering to tell him he had disarmed him earlier and still had his gun.

Peter finally looked at him, his dark eyes furious. "You have a hellva lot of explaining to do when we get back to the office."

Neal's throat clenched, as Peter called in for backup. Neal wouldn't be getting out of this easy, not this time.

**_TBC_**

* * *

><p><strong>**I hope ur enjoying my story so far. It's not my usual raunchy material. I'm more sex driven then story driven. So hopefully the change of pace hasn't deterred anyone! But trust me, there will be some awesome-raunchy fluffiness later. I swear!<strong>

**~kidneythieves ;)**


	10. Ch 10: Point Blank

**Chapter 10: Point Blank**

"You don't have to do this boss," Diana said calmly. "I can interrogate him…"

Peter held up a hand to stop her, "No- this is something I need to do, Diana."

"Boss…" Diana began obvious apprehension on her face. She was dressed casual, jeans, loose fitting shirt and black jacket. It was still too early in the morning for regular working hours and he had called in his team- Diana and Jones. He wanted to handle Neal quietly and knew they would help with whatever he required of them. Now the brazen young woman stood before him, set on helping him and ready to throw down if possible.

Peter shook his head, determined now more than ever to face this on his own. "Go," he ordered her, "sit with Neal until I'm done."

Diana hesitated, a small flash of defiance flared in her usually stoic dark eyes. But Diana was a good agent and followed orders. She turned on her heel and walked out of his office to babysit Neal. Peter gave Jones the finger-point and the agent nodded in understanding, briskly walking up the stairs to back him up in the conference room. Jones too was dressed casually, though with a gun strapped in his hostler and a weary look. Jones was always the cautious man and Peter would need his strength in what he was about to face.

Peter's eyes briefly wondered down to Neal. He sat, handcuffed to his desk.

He watched as Neal examined his cuffs and loosely pulled on them. Peter's brow rose when he noticed Neal eyeballing his desk for something to tweak the lock and break out of his cuffs. He bit back a sudden urge to laugh. Neal always had to play the con. He could just never accept the hand that had been dealt to him- he needed better. And at the moment, Neal wanted more than to sit at his desk and let Peter interrogate the Russian hitman on his own.

Finally Neal's eyes glanced up and collided with his. Peter saw a momentary flash of anger which burned in those stunning blue eyes. Peter sighed. He hated being the bad guy. He hated it even more putting Neal on lockdown. He just didn't trust the conman at the moment.

Tonight Neal showed Peter his dark side. He had only seen it a few times in the course of their partnership. And it always left him shaken. Neal was dangerous when he was willing to risk it all. Except this time it wasn't Kate or revenge Neal wanted. It was for Peter. It was vengeance, plain and simple. And violent.

But Peter wanted it this more than Neal. After all, it was he who Victor left bleeding to death in an alleyway.

He turned to the conference room where the hitman Victor Niltz sat, waiting for him.

The shady yet confident hitman barely glanced up to greet Peter when he walked through the glass window doors, Jones one step behind him. Victor almost seemed bored, as if he would rather be sleeping in a jail cell than there. Peter felt a sudden quiver of rage. He recognized the man the moment he had cuffed him in the alleyway.

Now, he saw those tattoos up close once again, written on his knuckles and a star along his neck to indicate Russian mob. This man wore his tattoos with honor and pride. He had earned them with each kill and movement up the ranks of the Vory V Zakone. They rewarded their members with symbols of stars on their body, to demonstrate loyalty and superiority.

Victor was a dangerous man. Even if you had no idea what his tattoos truly represented, his dark, yet subtle malicious eyes read- death.

"Remember me?" Peter asked casually, pulling up a chair across from him, a file in hand.

Victor titled his head slightly. His cold eyes bearing down on him. Finally after a moment, a glimmer of a smile played on the Russian hitman's lips.

"Good," Peter said with a smile of his own, though he felt no amusement in the smile. "Because I have you on attempted murder of an FBI agent. That's 25 to life, Mr. Niltz."

Victor simply blinked.

Peter continued, "I can soften the sentence if you tell us everything you know about the person who hired you."

Victor's eyebrow twitched, "You would want to give me less time in prison?" His thick Russian accent was heavily lined with surprise, "I shot you, agent Burke. If I were you, I would not be so merciful."

"Merciful?" Peter snorted, trying to control the brewing hatred stirring in his gut. He nearly died because of this man and all he wanted to do was pull out his gun and shoot him- point blank. Peter saw himself do it so easily. One shot, right through the skull and there would be one less murderer on the streets- one less villain screwing up the world. "Trust me, Niltz. I'm not being merciful. Its justice I want. Not vengeance."

Victor suddenly laughed, "Don't lie. I know you want to shoot me. I can see it in your eyes. Just like I saw it in the man who shot me earlier." His arm was in a sling, tightly pulled against his chest. They had spent the last half of the night in the hospital room where the nurses dug out the bullet and stitched up the wound. Now, after several long hours they had finally brought Victor to their office for the interrogation. Victor smiled at Peter, "At least he had some balls."

Peter gritted his teeth. "Tell me who hired you," he reiterated, ignoring his taunt.

"I told the other one- it was a woman named Adele."

"Yeah, I heard that part," Peter said. Neal had explained everything that Victor had told him under the barrel of a gun and the connection to the Reynolds case was growing stronger by the minute. "What's your connection to Kirill?"

"Kirill is middle-man." He explained with a shrug, "A nobody."

"Obviously he's somebody if he could hire the likes of you."

Victor smiled easily, "Yes- all right. Kirill used to be Zakone. Still is to many of us. Though he doesn't kill anymore- he hires others to do business for him."

"Adele," Peter breathed out the name.

Victor nodded, "Kirill told me of woman named Adele who wanted a nosey FBI agent killed. I complied." He said it with such coolness that a shiver raced up Peter's spine. Anyone who could talk of killing, taking another's life so easily, scared him.

"So you never met her?" Peter asked.

"No," Victor replied, "But Kirill did." He smiled then, knowing that this was the information Peter had been trying to get at since the moment he walked in. "Kirill meets with everyone. He will know her." He leaned back in his chair, sling strapped to his chest. He didn't seem uncomfortable or in pain, just cold and evil. "I suggest, agent Burke. That you stop wasting time with me- go to source."

Peter couldn't agree more. He stood, gathering his files. "Well, Mr. Niltz, I hope you enjoy prison. Because you'll be there for a very long time."

Victor barked out a harsh laugh, "It's vacation compared to Russian prison. I _will_ enjoy it, Agent Burke, don't worry."

Peter left the room, shaken and edgy. Victor Niltz was a cold-blooded killer with no morals or values. He would happily kill anyone for the right price. Peter wondered how much his life had been worth. But he didn't bother asking. He had the information he needed.

Feeling violated and somehow dirty, Peter walked downstairs to Neal. Peter was in the white collar division for a reason. He hated having to talk to low-life scum and killers. People like Victor Niltz. People who he would've preferred to live the rest of his life without ever knowing they existed.

He gave Neal a hard look. It was time to put an end to this once and for all, he told himself. Today they would go after Kirill and tomorrow- they would find out who the mysterious Adele finally is. And Neal would be with him every step of the way. No more cuffs, no more tracking anklet, and no more rules. If they wanted to get this woman, they would have to play dirty.

Peter pulled out the handcuff keys from his pocket. He turned to Diana, "Take our prisoner down to lockup. Process him. I want you with him every step of the way. I don't want any mistakes with this guy." Diana gaze turned to the handcuff key in his hand and then back to him suspiciously. Peter's voice became brittle and steely then, "Are we clear?"

Diana's resilience gave way then and she nodded, "Yeah, boss." She moved quickly and headed upstairs where Jones was with Niltz.

"She didn't look too happy," Neal commented.

Peter's gaze rounded on the conman. "She knows her place. And so should you."

Neal bristled as he pulled on the handcuff. "I got the message, Peter. I screwed up…"

"Yeah, you did." Peter bit back, eyes flaring. "We could've lost Niltz tonight if you left him in that alleyway."

Neal averted his gaze, ashamed.

"Next time you wanna play Dirty Harry, don't. We either do this together, or not at all."

"Are you saying…?"

"Yeah," Peter said with determination as he bent and released the steel cuff around Neal's wrist. "We're going after this bitch as a team."

A dazzling smile crossed the conman's face. "I seriously want to kiss you right now." Neal said in a hushed tone as he twisted his hand upwards and captured Peter's hand, tangling his fingers through his.

Peter's heart suddenly fluttered. He caught sight of those stunning blue eyes staring up at him with yearning and desire, and something more. Admiration or…

It didn't matter now, he thought. All Peter knew was that Neal managed to wipe away the darkness that he felt after his encounter with Niltz and replace it was courage and hope. They would find this mysterious woman, solve the Reynolds case and his own. Neal found the shooter, now all they had to do was find who hired him.

"Not in the office," Peter breathed out. Neal grinned boyishly as they headed for the doors, together.

**_TBC_**


	11. Ch 11: Revelation

**Chapter 11: Revelation**

Neal's gaze kept straying to Peter. Ever since they left the white collar office together, Neal had a newfound admiration for his federal agent. Peter managed to keep his cool with the hitman, even after the man shot him at point blank range. Neal realized then that Peter was now his official hero. Mostly because he knew that he wouldn't have the same wherewithal to withstand the company of his attacker without pulling the trigger.

"I don't know anything," Kirill said, puffing a circle of smoke into Peter's stoic, unreadable face.

"I think you know a lot Kirill…" Peter responded easily, unperturbed by the cigarette smoke.

Kirill's dull eyes moved to Neal. "Why'd you bring him here, Nick? You know I don't like strangers."

Neal slid off his hat and placed it on the table. He needed Kirill to know the seriousness of their situation. It took every convincing bone in Neal's body to persuade Peter not to arrest Kirill the moment they walked through the doors of the Shady Lady.

"Look Kirill, I know you hired Niltz." Neal replied smoothly. He still couldn't believe his old friend would so easily lie to his face after all they had been through. Yet they both were criminals and Neal should've at least suspected Kirill instead of trusting him.

Mild surprise glimmered briefly over the old Russian mobster's weathered face.

"Aw- so I see Victor cracked under pressure then?" Kirill stated blandly.

"More like at gunpoint," Peter countered.

Kirill's thick eyebrow lifted again in surprise. His face drew back then in contemplation. "So I take it you want something from me in return, Nick?"

"You did lie to me Kirill." Neal retorted.

Kirill shrugged, "I know, I know. But what did you expect? I haven't seen you in years and then out of blue you show up at doorstep and demand information." His Russian accent seemed to punctuate his words.

Neal hesitated. Kirill was right. Neal wouldn't trust any of his old accomplices if they were to vanish without a trace and then mysterious reappear. He barely trusted them in the first place. Kirill had a point.

"That's not important right now, Kirill." Peter interrupted, ready to move on from the subject and find out what they really were after. "Tell us who hired you?"

The old Russian sipped his vodka slowly, his eyes furrowed.

"C'mon Kirill- I deserve at least that much." Neal said, watching his former friend with sudden apprehension.

"You deserve nothing but a bullet, Nick." Kirill growled. Neal's heart dropped. Kirill wouldn't tell him after all.

Peter and Neal exchanged looks of bitter defeat.

"However- you saved my butt that one time from that one place," Kirill said vaguely. Peter shot Neal a confused look. Neal shook his head to indicate it wasn't the moment to ask. "So I will help you," Kirill continued candidly, "a woman- she called herself Adele came to me."

"We know that part already," Peter said impatiently.

Kirill snubbed out his cigarette, "Do you also know she is a student?"

Peter stilled, quieting instantly.

"An art student or something- anyway I don't do business with people I don't know first." Kirill smiled sheepishly at Neal, "or work with. So I had her followed."  
>Neal and Peter both waited breathlessly for Kirill's revelation. Finally they would know Adele's true identity.<p>

"Her name is Elsa Waren- art student at the university."

The early morning sunlight gleamed off the rooftops of New York City. For the city that never sleeps, this early in the morning was pushing it. The streets were mostly deserted as they zoomed through the intersections without traffic.

Neal kept sneaking a look at Peter. He was unusually quiet with his lips pursed in concentration. Neal knew Peter well enough to know when he went into fed mode. Peter was planning his confrontation with Walter Reynolds girlfriend, Elsa Waren. Except Neal and Peter both knew who was really behind it all. Walter Reynolds.

Elsa might have hired the hitman to go after Peter. However chances were Walter Reynolds was really the one pulling the strings. He had the money and the motive. They just had to get Elsa to fold on her boyfriend to confirm it.

Peter finally broke the silence, "So what was that 'one thing' you did for Kirill?"

Neal laughed in surprise. He hadn't expected Peter to ask him. "No way- I already let you in on our meeting. I'm not giving up anything else."

"Aw, c'mon Neal- be happy I didn't arrest Kirill, because I really wanted to."

"And I'm grateful for that," Neal replied. "It still doesn't mean I have to tell you what happened five years ago."

Peter's eyebrows lifted, "five years ago?" He narrowed his eyes in concentration, then with an amused smile he asked, "weren't you in Zurich then?"

"I'm not that easy, Peter." Neal said coyly, biting the inside of his cheek from giving away to a smile.

Peter's dark eyes suddenly became sultry, "No- you've never been easy."

Neal felt a shiver race up his spine at his words. It had been too long since the last time they kissed and Neal would've given anything to taste those lips once more, especially when Peter was giving him the 'come-hither' look. They had been through a lot together just in the past few hours. Not to mention hot crazy sex the other night that they hadn't even talked about. Except that none of it mattered in that moment. All that Neal could see in front of him was the man he had been ready to throw his whole life away for. The man who had stolen his heart when he wasn't paying attention. Neal wanted to laugh at the idea. Peter had been a thief all along with Neal's heart in his pocket. Except Peter didn't know he had it yet.

But before either one of them could give in to temptation the federal building came into view. Their moment faded away into the morning sunlight. They had work to do and a case to finally put to a close.

_**TBC**_


	12. Ch 12: Busted

**Chapter 12: Busted**

Peter stilled behind the column, hiding himself from view in the art gallery.

"Reynolds has entered the building," Diana said into the two way receiver in his ear, "ETA two minutes."

Peter pulled his sleeve close to his lips, "No one moves until I give the signal."

"Loud and clear boss," Diana and Jones concurred on both ends of the receiver.

Silence from Neal. Peter shot a hard look over to Neal. The conman stood on the other side of the art gallery. He was dressed in his usual sleek designer suit and tie, except at the moment he also sported a pair of thick brimmed glasses. Mrs. Gemma Reynolds stood by his side, wearing a posh black dress and killer high heels that made Peter wince. Yet they were role playing- buyer and seller.

"Neal…" Peter hissed out demandingly. Neal arched an eyebrow in his direction and then winked at him from their distance, indicating he heard him. Peter sighed. Neal always had to show off or just be difficult.

Then he heard Neal say through the microphone to Mrs. Reynolds, "Its' okay, Mrs. Reynolds. You know the plan. It's a sure thing, all right? We're here to protect you if anything should happen."

His calming voice echoed through the receiver. Peter then heard Mrs. Reynolds return softly, "Do you think anything will happen?"

Peter glanced over to Neal's position. He watched as Neal gave her a gentle smile, "You're in safe hands, Mrs. Reynolds. Trust me," he said confidently. Mrs. Reynolds gave him a weak smile as Neal rubbed her arm reassuringly.

Peter was grateful for Neal's coolness then. Keeping Mrs. Reynolds as calm as possible during this confrontation was critical. Everything was riding on this moment between Mrs. Reynolds and step-son Walter.

Mrs. Reynolds had closed the art gallery for the FBI to confront their main suspect. She had asked Walter to visit her for lunch to discuss the new security she wanted to install at the gallery. Walter had agreed just as they had predicted. Especially since Walter was the only other person that had access to the art gallery aside from Mrs. Reynolds. So of course he would want to be involved in the new security system. Aside from the fact that he might feel the urge to steal again and it would be easier knowing the code keys and passwords to his own piggy bank of treasure, Peter thought.

Neal came in by playing the disguise of Nick Holden, the wealthy businessman after the Klimt collection. If they predicted Walter's behavior correctly, he would not be very happy when he discovered Mrs. Reynolds alleged plans to sell Nick Holden her remaining Klimt collection. His blinding fury would give way to his motive on stealing the Adele and hiring a hitman to cover his tracks.

Elsa had been his cover. She had no real motivation to stealing the painting. Peter and Neal both knew as much. Walter let his girlfriend do all the dirty work. Now it was time to get the coward behind the mask of Adele and reveal who was truly responsible.

If their sting operation went according to plan, Walter would be in cuffs in a matter of minutes.

"Suspect entering now," Diana breathed into the receiver. Peter stiffened behind the column, sliding his gun out of his holster and handling it with knowledgeable ease.

Peter listened behind the column as Walter Reynolds entered.

"Well, Mrs. Reynolds I would be more than happy to take these fine pieces of art off your hands," Neal began exuberantly the second Walter was within distance of their conversation.

"Mr. Holden- I have quite an extensive Klimt collection…" Mrs. Reynolds replied.

"Mrs. Reynolds, if you're worried about the price- don't." Neal's utter confidence and obvious charm oozed from his voice. "I'd be more than willing to pay the right price for such master pieces."

"Gemma?" Walter voice asked questioningly. Good, Peter thought with malice, let the bastard suffer at the knowledge that he didn't have any authority over the Klimt pieces in his own father's gallery- Gemma Reynolds did. "What's going?" he asked sounding alarmed.

"Mr. Holden has decided to take the remaining Klimt artwork to add to his own collection." Mrs. Reynolds explained. Peter heard the hint of fear in her voice, though Walter seemed obviously to his step-mother's fear of him.

"What?" Walter snapped viciously. "No- he's not, Gemma."

"I do beg your pardon, but I believe Mrs. Reynolds is the benefactor of this fine art gallery. So what say do you have in who she sells her art too?" Neal asked.

"Everything- this is my father's art gallery. She just runs it."

"Walter…" Gemma trailed off, her fear getting the best of her. "I want to sell the Klimt collection- it's time."

"It's time?" Walter's voice broke dangerously. "My father's only been dead a year and this is how you treat his memory? By selling his most prized possessions? You have no right!"

"I have every right. I own a share in my late husband's art. Besides- the Adele has already been stolen. God knows what else those thieves might want. I can't risk boarding the Klimt here any longer. I've been given no choice but to sell them, Walter." Mrs. Reynolds retorted briskly her confidence returning.

"You bitch," Walter seethed.

"Hey now," Neal stepped in, trying to diffuse the growing tension. Peter risked a glance and saw Mrs. Reynolds face stricken as her lips trembled in mounting fear of the young man.

Walter ignored Neal, already seeing red towards his step-mother. "So you're going to sell all of my father's collection? Where's your heart, Gemma? Did you sell that too?"

"Walter," Mrs. Reynolds stated firmly, "I don't appreciate that kind of language, especially in front of my client. Please, we'll talk about this over lunch…"  
>"No," Walter cut in, his anger beginning to rattle him. "We're done talking about this." His tone of finality resonated in the room. His eyes were filled with pure hatred. Peter felt like he was watching the kettle about to explode.<p>

"You have to admit, Walter…" Neal explained indifferently, "This collection is nearly worthless without the Adele. I'm doing Mrs. Reynolds a favor by taking the collection off her hands."

Walter's steely eyes shot to Neal. If looks could kill, Neal would be dead, Peter thought dully. "I doubt that," Walter shot back.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. People have already heard the painting is missing. Sooner or later this collection will be lost- without the right buyer…" He trailed off.

A sudden disturbing calmness overcame Walter's expression. Cold and distant. He glanced between them and after a moment cleared his throat. "You're right…" Walter took a deep breath as though trying to settle himself. Peter's gut clenched uncomfortably as his hand tightened around the gun, preparing himself for anything.

"I'll just have to make sure no one wants them then," Walter breathed as he quickly pulled out a lethal knife from his back pocket. He flicked it out. The steel glinted in the light of the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds gasped as Walter headed directly to one of the paintings that hung only feet away from them. The look of intent determination in his cold eyes made Peter realize he was about to slash the painting into pieces.

But before Peter had time to react, Neal did. "No!" Neal leapt forward and grabbed Walter by the wrist, yanking him away from the precious work of art.

Peter stepped from behind the column then, knowing that their sting hadn't worked. They would have to rile Walter up in a different way to get a confession. Peter held out his gun and shouted, "FBI- drop the knife."

Walter's eyes darted to Peter, alarmed. Neal turned to Peter when suddenly Walter made a move. He yanked Neal towards him, sliding the sharp blade over his exposed throat.

Peter felt his heart still to a near stop.

Neal was at the mercy of a reckless kid with daddy issues. He already tried to kill Peter twice, there was no telling what Walter Reynolds could do when motivated by fear.

"Walter…" Peter said warningly, "You're not gonna solve this with bloodshed. So put down the knife and step away."

Walter eyes were filled with panic. His grip on the knife tightened as he pulled Neal closer. Peter watched the pained expression cross Neal's handsome face as blood began to slowly trickle from his neck.

Peter felt his whole body tremble. Dear God if anything happened to Neal he would lose his mind, he thought, gripping his gun. Neal was the most important person in his life- he couldn't lose him. Not now, not after everything they went through to get here. And yet, they had so much more to experience together. Peter hadn't even told him the truth. That he was absolutely, head over heels in love with the cocky, arrogant conman.

And Walter Reynolds held him at knife point. This kid was pushing his luck with Peter now.

"Walter…" Peter said again, this time with a firm voice, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Don't do anything stupid or I will take you down myself."

Suddenly Diana and Jones swiftly moved in the room, flanking Walter. "FBI!" Diana stated loudly from behind Walter. "You're surrounded!"

Walter hesitated then, the gleam of panic fading into stark fear. His hand wavered and he finally dropped the knife. The minute it the knife hit the floor, Diana and Jones swarmed onto Walter, cuffing him. Neal stumbled out of his grasp, his hand covering the flesh wound on his throat. Peter instinctively grabbed Neal by the collar and inspected the wound carefully, making sure it wasn't fatal.

"I'm okay…" Neal breathed, though his eyes slightly watered from the pain.

Peter continued to grip him tightly, images of Neal's throat being slashed playing vividly in his mind.

"Peter, I'm okay…" Neal said again, clasping his hand onto Peter's arm and squeezing. Peter could only stare at him in utter relief, as he slowly exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He wanted to tell Neal right then and there the truth. That he'd been hiding this whole time from him- that he'd loved him since before all this happened. He loved him from the very beginning, Peter just hadn't realized it. And it took two bullets in the chest to make him see that.

"Boss," Jones said from the doorway, "Does Cafferey need to go to the hospital?"

Peter shook himself out of his fog, "No, he's fine," He responded. "Take Walter and Mrs. Reynolds to HQ- I wanna get her statement. And Diana," He said gesturing to the agent as she held Walter's cuffed wrists in her hands. "Give Miss Elsa a call, I have a feeling she has something to tell us."

"Sure, boss," Diana replied with a knowing smile and headed downstairs with their suspect in custody.

Jones existed with Mrs. Reynolds, who looked like a deer caught in headlights after seeing her step-son pull a knife. Peter and Neal stood alone now in the art gallery. Neal was about to wipe the blood off on his jacket when Peter stopped him. "No, don't…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Peter? I didn't realize you were so old school," Neal smiled with amazement and accepted the white cloth to hold against his bleeding neck.

"It came with the suit," Peter brushed off casually.

Neal chuckled, "Right- and I thought chivalry was dead."

"Not quite," Peter whispered huskily, as he dipped his head and captured Neal's lips. Neal let out a long sigh, wrapping his free hand around his neck and drawing him closer. Peter groaned, forgetting how much he had missed the taste of his conman. Neal tasted like sweet wine and hot sin. He let himself feel every inch of his mouth. His heart raced in sudden excitement and his groin tightened with building tension.

Yet what Peter felt most was the pure joy and utter contentment which seemed to flow through their kiss. Emotions he felt only because he was kissing the man he loved. Neal trembled in his arms and abruptly pulled back. His beautiful blue eyes shimmered, "Peter," he whispered against his lips. "We need to talk about this…"

Peter almost laughed, "I know."

Neal let out another long-full sigh, "Tonight?"

"Yeah," Peter flicked the pad of his thumb over Neal's wet lips. Raw, unfiltered lust shone in the depths of those baby blues, "After we close this case."

Neal smiled at him, "Of course."

They left the art gallery, both rattled and shaken. Not from the action that took place earlier but because of each other. Peter suddenly felt hopeful. Maybe getting shot in the chest was a good thing, he wondered with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

**_TBC_**


	13. Ch 13: Case Closed

**Chapter 13: Case Closed**

Neal tried not to pace. Peter sent him home over two hours ago. Neal refilled his wine glass and stewed outside on his balcony patio. The cool night air felt refreshing as he inhaled sharply. He knew Peter had a job to do. Finish the case, which meant paperwork. Lots of paperwork and Peter didn't want Neal to pace in the office waiting for him to finish. So he sent him home. He couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want anyone looming over his shoulder either. Plus the added pressure of their 'conversation' they hinted at in the gallery didn't help much either.

So Neal waited for him. It felt like he had waited a long time for Peter. For him to finally pass the point of no return with their relationship. It had changed days ago when they shared their first kiss and then it was spun on its head when they slept together. Neal smiled into the wine glass, remembering vividly how they went at it like overzealous teenagers. They had waited so long for that moment that neither of them could control themselves. Now he wondered what tonight would bring.

He had to tell Peter the truth, if he hadn't figured it out already. That he loved him. That he wanted them to be together, more than just friends and co-workers. He wanted more from his fed. He wanted his whole heart.

He just didn't know how to say it then, he knew now. After Neal saw the stark fear etched on Peter's face when Walter held the knife to his throat, Neal knew. Peter cared for him. He saw it in the dark depths of his eyes. In that moment, Neal trembled under the knife from the realization. He wanted so badly to tell Peter how much he loved him. It took all of Neal's limited self-control not to, especially afterwards when Peter kissed him. His heart ached to tell him.

He absently swirled the wine in his glass as he leaned against the wall of the balcony that overlooked New York City. He sighed, feeling slightly light headed. He glanced at the dark wine, how many glasses did he have? He pondered vaguely.

"May I join you?"

Neal recognized that husky voice. He turned to see Peter, leaning against the doorframe to the balcony, watching him under dark intense eyes. A soft smile playing on his lips making Neal's heart flutter. His suit was rumpled from the days wear and he looked tired, except his body screamed pure, male sexuality. Peter didn't realize how sexy he truly was in that moment.

"Yeah," Neal mumbled, feeling suddenly awkward and unsure of himself. Usually he was the one seducing and tempting. All Peter had to do was walk into the room and Neal was a blushing boy all over again, being schooled in the art of sexual presence by the master. "You're here earlier than I expected," Neal commented handing Peter a full glass of red wine.

"Me too," Peter took the glass gratefully and tossed his suit jacket on the patio table. "Hughes ended up telling us to go home." He chuckled, "I hadn't expected Hughes to be the first one to throw in the towel."

"I'm sure dealing with the inner politics of the bureau can be just as exhausting," Neal commented.

"Yeah, I suppose." Peter drawled out as he sipped his wine, eyes surveying the brightly lit sky of New York City. It sparkled and shined throughout the night. "I'm glad it's finally over," Peter said with a heavy sigh.

Neal said nothing, though he agreed completely. The perpetrator was behind bars, the case was closed and Peter was still alive. No more trigger happy hitmen or Russian mobsters. Just them. Back to normal come Monday morning.

"You know, I wasn't exactly honest about Klimt…" Peter said, surprising Neal.

"What do you mean?" Neal asked, "You're really a closet Klimt fan and didn't want to tell _me_?"  
>Peter barked out a laugh, "Something like that. I wanted you to think I was a novice."<p>

"Peter Burke- Klimt fan, huh- I wouldn't have guessed." Neal said in disbelief.

"What you think I'm more of a paint by numbers fan?" Peter asked sarcastically.

"Aw- c'mon Peter, give me some credit. I seriously doubted someone like you could've ranked up to the bureau's white collar division without some knowledge on art. Well- maybe a college course, at the very least," Neal mocked carelessly.

Peter scoffed, "Neal! I'm offended. I can't believe you would assume I only took _one_ class!"

They both laughed. The euphoria of their recent win still lingering in the air.

"Damn, it's good to be finished with this," Peter said before taking another sip. "Signing off on Walter Reynolds police report made me want to dance a jig."

"Please don't," Neal commented drily.

"Don't worry- I already tortured Jones with the dance earlier."

"Thank God," he said in mock exasperation.

Peter slowly leaned back in his chair as he smiled lazily at Neal. "So… now that the case is closed and everything will be back to normal come Monday morning, what do we plan on doing to celebrate?"

Neal felt the flare of excitement in his gut. Peter's eyes held a hint of sultry passion that burned right through Neal's suit. Neal leaned forward, tried of small talk and beating around the bush. It was all or nothing. Peter was hinting at a night neither of them wanted to waste. So Neal would give Peter a night he wouldn't forget.

"How about we take the party inside?" Neal said, slowly getting to his feet and loosening his tie. Peter watched his movements carefully, studying him with that FBI gaze. Neal's heart flipped over in his chest but he didn't stop. He hid the tremble in his fingers by pulling the tie off from around his neck and tossing it on the table, then slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He watched as Peter swallowed the rest of his wine in one final gulp and got to his feet, the sexual tension sparking off them like fireworks.

Neal headed towards the balcony door, finishing the buttons on his shirt to reveal the white tank top underneath. Suddenly he felt a firm arm wrap around him as Peter ran his hand up the front of Neal's chest, holding him from behind. Neal shook, his breathing already choppy as if he just ran a flight of stairs. His cock tightened. Peter pulled him into his embrace, the back of his legs brushing against Peter's, his butt nestling perfectly against his manhood. His hand was hard as he rubbed over Neal's shirt, palming his nipples roughly.

Neal sighed, his erection grew painfully hard in his pants. Peter rotated his hips forward, brushing his own arousal into him. "I said inside," Neal breathed out, though he titled his head to the side to let Peter's lips find his neck and gently suckle.

Peter grunted, lavishing wet kisses along his jaw-line. "I know… we'll get there…"

Neal chuckled as he ran his hand down the side of Peter's waist and leg. Peter's kisses instantly got harder, nipping along his sensitive neck, "You're gonna leave marks." Neal commented then with a slight gasp Peter's calloused hand began expertly unbuckling his belt. The friction alone caused Neal to arch his hips forward, hoping Peter's hand would stray to his deliciously aching cock.

Peter hummed in delight at Neal's obvious arousal. He flicked his fingers carelessly over the bulge in his pants before returning to undressing him. Neal groaned harshly then. Peter quickened his pace until he was able to slip his whole hand into Neal's pants.

Neal's whole world tilted. He let out a breathless gasp as Peter stroked him with a firm, hard grip all the way to his tip, where he mercilessly thumbed him until it beaded with precum. Neal knees wobbled and muscles clenched. He had enough foreplay. He wanted it all, and now. He spun quickly on his heels, drawing Peter's hand out and capturing the fed's lips with brazen want.

Peter let out his own moan and began backing Neal inside the apartment and towards the bed. Before Neal let Peter throw him down on the bed and ravish him, he did something he always wanted to do. He hurriedly unbuttoned the top few buttons on Peter's shirt, revealing the sexy mole on his throat. Peter seemed unaware of what Neal was doing until he dipped his head and licked and suckled the mole. "I always wanted to do that," Neal whispered pressing hot kisses against his neck.

Peter laughed and began to undress completely. Neal joined, frantically pulling off his tank top and shoving off his pants. The second they were naked, Peter pushed him down on the mattress. Neal went willingly, his heart hammering. Their hot, naked bodies grappled for dominance on the bed, each trying to overpower each other, yet rubbing their stiff cocks against each other and ruthlessly kissing. Neal never experienced kissing like this. Locking lips with Peter was a battle of pure passion. He opened his mouth to onslaught of his controlling tongue. Peter sucked his lips and tongue, hard. Neal's cock twitched dangerously. The tension mounting between his legs.

"Peter…" Neal huffed out, sucking in air the moment Peter finally pulled away to enjoy the pleasures of Neal's nipples. Neal cursed as Peter sucked just as hard, making his nipples hard little pebbles. Neal ran his fingers through Peter's lush brown hair, loving the soft feel beneath his hands. His legs opened wide to accommodate Peter's body as he ground his cock into his hard stomach. Peter snaked his hand between their locked bodies and captured Neal's throbbing erection again, this time with a softer touch, driving Neal absolutely mad with desire.

Peter continued pull and rub him gently until Neal couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to dominate. He wanted Peter gasping out his name this time. He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside Peter, thrusting wildly.

Using surprise as a tactic, Neal slid beneath Peter, crossed his legs and then pushed him onto his back. Peter stretched out before him, his chest rising and falling from the lack of oxygen and his gloriously hard cock towering. His eyes wide in desperate need. Neal had the advantage now. He dipped his head and with an open mouth, took Peter's hard tip into his wet mouth. Peter groaned out a curse. Neal felt his cock tense in his mouth as he sucked him. He engulfed the length of him into his mouth, then added more friction by using his hands to stroke the base of his shaft. Peter's cock pulsated. He gasped, clutching the bed sheets. Neal sucked harder, wanting to bring Peter to the brink of total loss. He tongued his sensitive tip until Peter bucked wildly beneath him.

"Neal…" Peter panted desperately, "stop…"

Neal relished hearing him pleading. He wanted Peter to know what it felt like to stand on the edge of total oblivion and know that Neal had stood there since the moment Peter stole his heart. Peter grabbed him by his hair and tried to pull him away. Neal ranked his teeth lightly over his shaft before finally releasing him. Peter moaned, his cock wet with precum and his leg muscles tensed.

Neal blindingly reached out to his nightstand and grabbed the bottle of lube. On his knees, he palmed his arousal quickly and under the intense gaze of his lover. Peter reached out and stroked along the side of Neal's legs and brushing between his thighs. Neal shuddered, his erection already on the verge of climax. Neal carefully lowered himself between Peter's open legs and lifted him up, giving himself room. Peter shifted his weight until Neal was in position.

Peter hungrily kissed him as Neal's cock pressed into him. Neal whimpered, loving the desperation in the kiss and putting his whole heart into it. He felt loved from Peter then. Peter couldn't deny him now. Neal knew it with absolute certainty that he loved him.

The tension between his legs grew unbearably now. Neal shuddered before finally thrusting forward. Peter gasped. Neal lost himself instantly. The warmth and feel of Peter made him crave more. He drove into him ruthlessly. Peter dug his fingers into his shoulders painfully, calling out his name in frantic breaths. Neal gripped his waist as he him rode hard. His control shattered the minute Peter's cock swelled to the breaking point and erupted between them. Neal quickened his pace, the building tension gripping him. Peter clung to him, burying his face into his neck, gasping at each wild thrust that Neal made.

Finally, after one last thrust, Neal climaxed. He gripped ferociously to Peter, his orgasm coming in waves. Once the climax finished, Neal crumpled onto the bed, Peter still clutched to him.

After a few minutes of recovery, Peter rolled to his back, letting out a deep sigh. "Damn…" he gruffed out.

Neal felt a smile tug at his lips, feeling completely drained. "I know…"

He glanced over his shoulder to the fed besides him. Peter was smiling up at the ceiling like a fool. Neal laughed at him. Peter's dark eyes ventured to him, "What?" he asked innocently.

Neal's heart swelled to the point of bursting. God he loved his some-what dorky, completely adorable and roughly handsome FBI agent. "Nothing… just wondering when we can do that again."

"I'll need a devil-ham sandwich to recharge the batteries," Peter said sincerely, yet with an amused smile.

"Oh God," Neal said with a dramatic eye roll. "That's disgusting. I don't know why you love those sandwiches."

He shrugged, "I can't help what I like."

Neal searched his face, wishing he could read Peter like he could with so many other people. Yet he knew that he had to say it, he had to tell him. He couldn't wait for Peter to say it first, no matter how scared he felt. "Neither can I," Neal whispered softly. "That's probably why I couldn't help falling in love with you."

Peter said nothing, simply stared at him in mild shock. Neal waited for the rejection. He waited for the inevitable heartache. Peter rolled to this side as he brushed a gentle hand over Neal's cheek, surprising him. He smiled down at him then admitted, "I never thought you'd be the first one to say it…"

Neal's heart hammered hopefully. He held his breath, waiting.

He thumbed Neal's lower lip affectionately. "You always manage to amaze me, Neal Caffrey." He leaned in and caressed his lips with his own, kissing him with such tenderness and love, Neal's heart melted. Peter pulled back, his eyes shining, "I love you too."

Neal sighed contentedly. His heart had constricted painfully waiting for those words. He remembered how he suffered in the hospital the night Peter was shot. How his whole world toppled around him at the idea of losing the only man in the world he trusted and loved. How he held the hitman at gunpoint, wanting desperately to shoot the man who hurt Peter. How victorious he felt after they finally closed the case, the bad guys behind bars. It all lead to this. The moment of truth between them. Words of endearment and love finally exchanged. He grabbed the side of Peter's face and devoured his lips in complete happiness.

The made out like that for a few minutes, holding tightly to one another, never wanting to let go. Peter pulled back, eyes twinkling. "You know, I might not need that sandwich after all."

Neal laughed and kissed him.

_**The End**_

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><p><em><strong>**<strong>_**Thanks for reading my story! I hope u enjoyed Neal & Peter's story up until the very end. Thank you for all the lovely & motivating comments. I'm glad I'm not the only one out there who's totally in love with the idea of Peter & Neal! Please review & comment if you haven't already! If you want another white collar story or have some ideas for me- just let me know. I always love a good challenge! ^_- **

**thanks again to all the people who commented! **

**~luv kidneythieves **


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